Full text of "Lourdes"
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Lourdes
3 1924 027 382 914
NOVELS BY £MILE ZOLA.
Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 3;. 6d. each.
VOLUMES OF THE 'ROUGON-MACQUART* SERIES.
THE FAT AND THE THIN ('Le Ventre de Paris').
Translated by Ernest Alfred Vizetelly,
'A very satisfactory rendering, which has preserved the passion^ the humour, and the
teri-ihle insight of the original. Zola has never drawn a picture more pitilessly faithful
to the lower side of our common humanity than tlus is. ■ • ■ A drama wnich reads like a
pa^e torn out of the hook of life Itself.' — Sfbakbr.
' The characters are drawn with a master hand, and the two rival beauties will
bear comparison with any of the portrsuts in the author's literaiy sallery.'— Glasgow
HSRALD.
THE DRAM-SHOP ('UAssommoir'). With a Preface by
E. A. Vizetelly,
'After reading "L'AssommoIr" and Zola's other books, It seems as if In the work of
all other novelists there were a veil between the reader and the things described ; and
there is present to our minds the same difference as exists between a human face as
represented on canvas and the same face as reflected in a mirror. It is like finding truth
for the first time.'— Sighok Eduohdo dh Auicis.
MONEY ('L' Argent'). Translated by E. A. Vizetelly.
' No one will be able to read " Money " without a deep sense of its absolute truth.
. , . Everjrthing in the novel is on a grand scale. ... A vast panorama of national
viciousness. ... An Qverpowering presentation of the disasters wrought by the unbridled
race for wealth.' — Morning LEApgR,
' Suffice it to say of this book, one of Zola's masterpieces^ that never has his brilliant
Jien been used with such realistic, life-like force. . , . The figure of Sacard isa terrible,
ascinating creation. His love of money, his love of women (an altogether secondary
impulse), his fixed hatred of the Jews, become more real than reality itself.'— Van itt
Fais.
HIS EXCELLENCY (* Son Excellence Eugene Rougon').
With a Preface by E, A. Vizetelly,
' The supreme craving for power was personified by Eu?%ne Rougon, the great man,
the eagle of the ^mily, who loved force for Its own sake, and conquered Paris in company
with ul the adventurers of the coming Empire, helped by his band, the hungry pack
which carried him alon^ and preyed upon him ; and, although momentarily defeated by a
woman, the lovely Clormde, for whom he entertained an insensate passion, be proved so
strong, so firm of purpose, that by abandoning every principle of his past life he yet agaia
victoriously climbed to power, marching on to the triumphal princely position of Vice-
Emperor.' — M.Z0LA in ' DocTOB Fascau'
THE DREAM ('Le R£:ve'). Translated by Eliza E.
Chase. With 8 Full-page Illustrations by Georges Jeanniot,
' M. Zola has sought in this charming story to prove to the world that he too can
write for the virgin, and that he can paint the better side of human nature in colours as
tender and true as those employed by any of his contemporaries. ... It is a beautiful
story admirably told.' — Speaker.
'Not a jarring touch, not a false note mars the harmony of this beautiful story of
Ideal love. . . . Zola's perfect ease, the masterly simplicity of his vworkmanship, his'
wondrous insight, are no less remarkable than the delicacy, grace, and infinite charm of
the great master's literaiy style.'— Morhing Leadbr.
Novels byEmile Zola.
THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS. Edited by
E. A, ViZBTELLV.
THE ABBE MOURET'S TRANSGRESSION. Edited by
Ernest A. VizeTelly. [Shortly.
THE DOWNFALL (' La Debacle '). Translated by E. A.
VIZETELLY. With 2 Plans of the Battle of Sedan. Tii.,- i ■-
• It would probably be no exaggeration to say that, taken as a whole. La U«b^le
is the most wonderfully faithful reproduction of an historical drama ever conumtted to
writing "La D^bScle'' is an appalling record of long-drawn-out misery, profl.ga.y. ^d
military and official incapadty, unbroken by any ray ofhope orsunshme. — bPECTATOR.
■ It is only when you have come to the end of " The Downfall " that you appreciate
the feverish hurry in which you have read page after page, and that yon know the
splendid art with which M. Zola has concealed the fervour, the pity, the agony, and the
inspiration with which he has told the tale.'— Sunday Sun.
DOCTOR PASCAL. Translated by E. A. Vizetelly. With
an Etched Portrait of the Author.
■This book, the crown and conclusion of the Rougon-Macquart volumes, strikes us
as being in some respects the most powerful, the most dramatic, and the most pathetic
' Dr. Pascal Rougon, the stilled physician, and the only member of his family that
has escaped the fatal taint of vice, here sits in judgment upon his relatives and compatriots,
and exp&ins the causes of their moral decline and fall. The wort fiirther deals with many
of the great problems of the time, and incidentally with the much-debated quesnon. Is
Christuinity Played Out?" Artistically blended, however, with this controversial matter,
and the deeply interesting researches of the hero, is an absorbing love-story, the scene of
whidi is laid under the burning sky of Provence, which fires the human heart with passion
and maddens it to crime.' — Echo.
THE 'THREE CITIES' SERIES.
LOURDES. Translated by E. A. Vizetellv.
' A great and notable book, . . . The glory of the book is the inesEhaustible, over-
flowing human sympathy which transfuses it from end to end. ... As you read, the heart is
set beating. . . . Instead of a mere name, " Ixjurdes" will always be something of a
reality to every reader of Zola's admirable pages. ... In almost every respect a signal
triumph — a book to be read and to be thankful for.' — Nationai- Observer.
' The most perfect specimen of literary art yet produced by M. Zola. . . . Beyond
question his best-written book, a model of powerful and poetic narrative, brilliant in style,
in form, and in colour.' — Graphic.
ROME. Translated by E. A. Vizetelly.
* A very ^eat book. . . We judge it as a work of art, and as such we must accord it
very high praise. Every part, great or small, fits perfectly into the whole , , . The Pope,
the Cardinalsj and all the lesser dignitaries of the Church against which the writo- brings
his great indictment are so painted that neither such greatness as is in themselves, nor
the greatness of the cause which they represent, shall be forgotten in the littleness of some
of the methods to which they stoop. —Guardian.
PARIS. Translated by E. A. Vizetelly.
_' These pictures of Parisian life are worthy of M. Zola at his besL The author's
pas.Monate love of the poor, his intolerance of their sufferings, his intense hatred of all
social wrongs, and longing for reform have never been declared with more sincerity,
more eloquence, and more ability. "Paris" will bring him new admirers and nevr
friends, for it shovra him to be not only a great ^vriter but a man of noble aspirations and
splendid courage.*— Pall Mall Gazette.
London : CHATTO & WINDUS, iii St. Martin's Lane, W.C.
THE THREE CITIES: LOURDES, ROME, PARIS
I.
LOURDES
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS
ON
LOURDES
* No one who has read the new romance of the great MastCT of ll^dum
will honestly question for a moment whether the sensation it has caused
and the controversy it has revived are due to its intrinsic ments, or are a
mere echo of the achievements of its author in a more turbulent field. . .
The truth is that " I^urdes " marks a breaking-away from orthodox Zolaism,
and is at the same time the most perfect specimen of literOT art^ yet
produced by M. Zola. ..." Lourdes " is beyond question his best;wnttea
book, a model ofpowerful and poetic narrative, brilliant in style, id form,
and in colour.'— Graphic,
*" Lourdes" will excite the greatest curiosity and interest, , . . His
endeavour, evidently, is to tell us exactly what may be seen by a person
who accompanies tJi? pilgrimage without any belief in its miracles, eithw
for or against. But as no man who uses his eyes can help having a point of
view, M. Zola necessarily has one of his own. It is that of the pure
rationalist, who has to accept certain extraordinary mamfestations of
curative yower in the waters, and at the same time to account for them oa
purely scientific grounds.' — Daily News.
* " Lourdes " is written, it must be admitted, in the great writer's finest
and most lucid style, . , . As an impartial study of what goes on at the
great Continental shrine, M. Zola's book is profoundly curious.'— To-D a v.
' M. Zola's work on faith-healing and miraculous cures is, tn our
opinion, as solidly good as anything he has done. . . . The volnme, like
his last, contains some detached fragments of great literary beauty.*
Athen^um*
' It is an extremely clever book.'— Sunday Times.
' Even that French critic who once said of M. Zola's noveU that he did
not know whether they were "du cochon ou de I'art" — which was said
before that beautiful, pure story of " Le Reve" was published— would find
no cause for such hesitation in " Lourdes," in which there is nothing,
absolutely nothing, of the brutal or the scabrous. It is a piteous story, this
story of Lourdes.'[ It is not a story, indted, so much as a history of an
extraordinary religious movement, a marvellously animated description,
infinitely touching, of the annual pilgrimage to the shrine.'— Morning.
* M. Zola's new novel exhibits some of hts highest qualities. . , , He
has collected his "documents" with his usual painstaking elaboration, and
the book abounds with vigorous thought and subtle delineation of
character. The descriptions of the journey to Lourdes, of the delirium of
religious enthusiasm with which the people crowd to the miraculous Grotto,
are not surpassed for dramatic force and' picturesnueness even by die
famous one of the march to Sedan in "The Downfall,'*'— Observer.
'"Lourdes" will do much to enhance M.Zola's position. . . . Upon
the whole it is a very clever setting of scientific questions in the framework
of a novel.'— Illustrated Church News,
'A great and notable book. . . . The greatest living master of the
French novel could not have triumphed at a more opportune moment.
The glory of the hook is the inexhaustible, overflowing human sympathy
which transfuses it from end to end. . . . JVs you read the heart is set
beating. , . . Instead of a mere name, " Lourdes " will always be some-
thing of a reality to every reader of Zola's admirable pages. . . , Very
many of the incidents in the book are of the. hapjuest, and some of them
attain to a paihos to equal which ^imparisons must be sought in the
masterpieces of romance. ..." Lourdes," indeed, is in almost every
respect a signal triumph— a book to be read and to be thankful for.*
._, . , „ National Observer,
■Ihe interest of "Lourdes is twofold. It is a picture drawn by a
master hand of the actualities of the pilgrimage as it exists to-day ; and U
Is an attempt by a keen mind to present psychic h^ing in such a form aa
to be understood and realised by the average x«ader.*
Rbvsw of Rgvibws.
LOURDES
B¥
EMILE ZOLA
TRANSLATED BY ERNEST ALFRED VIZETELLY
A NEW EDITION, REVISED
LONDON
CHATTO &. WINDUS
1898
\.u
'An endless fountain of immortal drink
Pouring unto us from the heavens' brink'
Keatt
* O wearisome condition of humanity 1 '
Fulke Grevilh
' The miserable have no other medicine
But only hope'
' Now faith is the substance of things hoped
for, the evidence of things not seen '
St. Fata
'There are no tricks in plain and simple faith'
Skaksfeare
PREFACE
Befoee perusing this work, the first volume of the Trilogy
of the Three Cities, it is as well that the reader should under-
stand M. Zola's aim in writing it, and his views — as dis-
tinct from those of his characters — upon Lourdes, its Grotto,
and its cures. When the hook first appeared M. Zola was
interviewed upon the subject by his friend and biographer,
Mr. Bobert H. Sherard ; and some extracts from the interest-
ing article which Mr. Sherard then contributed to the West-
minster Gazette are here appended, the editor of that journal
and Mr. Sherard having kindly granted the translator per-
mission to reproduce them.
' " Lourdes," ' said M. Zola, 'came to be written by mere
accident. In 1891 I happened to be travelling for my plea-
sure, with my wife, in the Basque country and by the Pyrenees,
and being in the neighbourhood of Lourdes, included it in my
tour. 1 spent fifteen days there, and was greatly struck by
what I saw, and it then occurred to me that there was material
here for just the sort of novel that I like to write — a novel in
which great masses of men can be shown in motion — un grand
mouvement defoule — a novel the subject of which stirred up
my philosophical ideas.
'It was too late then to study the' question, for I had
visited Lourdes late in September, and so had missed seeing
the best pilgrimage, which takes place in August, under the
direction of the FSres de la Mis6ricorde, of the Bue de
I'Assomption in Paris — the National Pilgrimage, as it is called.
These Fathers are very active, enterprising men, and have
vHi LOURDES
made a great success of this annual national pilgrimage.
Under their direction 80,000 pilgrims are transported to
Lonrdes, including over a thousand sick persons.
' So in the following year I went in August, and saw a
national pilgrimage, and followed it during the three days
which it lasts, in addition to the two days given to travelling.
After its departure, I stayed on ten or twelve days, working
up the subject in every detail. My book is the story of such
a national pilgrimage, and is, accordingly, the story of five
days. It is divided iato five parts, each of which parts is
limited to one day.
' There are from ninety to one hundred characters in the
story : sick persons, pilgrims, priests, nuns, hospitallers, nurses,
and peasants ; and the book shows Lourdes under every
aspect. There are the piscinas, the processions, the Grotto,
the churches at night, the people in the streets. It is, in
one word, Lourdes in its entirety. In this canvas is worked
out a very delicate central intrigue, as in "Dr. Pascal," and
around' this are many little stories or subsidiary plots. There
is the story of the sick person who gets well, of the sick
person who is not cured, and so on. The philosophical idea
which pervades the whole book is the idea of human suffering,
the exhibition of the desperate and despairing sufferers who,
abandoned by science and by man, address themselves to a
higher Power in the hope of relief ; as where parents have a
dearly loved daughter dying of consumption, who has been
given up, and for whom nothing remains but death. A sud-
den hope, however, breaks in upon them : " supposing that
after all there should be a Power greater than that of man,
higher than that of science." They will haste to try this last
chance of safety. It is the instinctive hankering after the lie
which creates human credulity.
' I will admit that I came across some instances of real
cure. Many cases of nervous disorders have undoubtedly
been cured, and there have also been other cures which may
perhaps be attributed to errors of diagnosis on the part of
doctors who attended the patients so cured.' Often a patient
PREFACE ix
is described by hia doctor as suffering from consumption.
He goes to Lourdes, and is cured. However, the probability
is that the doctor made a mistake. In my own case I was at
one time suffering from a violent pain in my chest, which
presented all the symptoms of angina pectoris, a mortal
malady. It was nothing of the sort. Indigestion, doubtless,
and as such, curable. Eemember that most of the sick
persons who go to Lourdes come from the country, and that
the country doctors are not usually men of either great skill
or great experience. But all doctors mistake symptoms. Put
three doctors together to discuss a case, and in nine cases out
of ten they will disagree in their diagnosis. Look at the
quantities of tumours, swellings, and sores, which cannot be
properly classified. These cures are based on the ignorance
of the medical profession. The sick pretend, believe, that
they suffer from such and such a desperate malady, whereas
it is from some other malady that they are suffering. And
so the legend forms itself. And, of course, there must be cures
out of so large a number of cases. Nature often cures without
medical aid. Certainly, many of the workings of Nature are
wonderful, but they are not supernatural. The Lourdes
miracles can neither be proved nor denied. The miracle
is based on human ignorance. And so the doctor who lives
at Lourdes, and who is commissioned to register the cures
and to tabulate the miracles, has a very careless time of it. A
person comes, and gets cured. He has but to get three doctors
together to examine the case. They will disagree as to what
was the disease from which the patient suffered, and the only
explanation left which will be acceptable to the public, with
its hankering after the lie, is that a miracle has been vouch-
safed.
' I interviewed a number of people at Lourdes, and could
not find one who would declare that he had witnessed a
miracle. All the cases which I describe in my book are real
cases, in which I have only changed the names of the persons
concerned. In none of these instances was I able to discover
any real proof for or against the miraculous nature of the
X LOURDES
cure. Thus, in the case of Cldmentine Trouv^, who figures in
my story as Sophie — the patient who, after suffering for a
long time from a horrid open sore on her foot, was suddenly
cured, according to current report, by bathing her foot in the
piscina, where the bandages fell off, and her foot was entirely
restored to a healthy condition — I investigated that case
thoroughly. I was told that there were three or four ladies
living in Lourdes who could guarantee the facts as stated by
little Clementine. I looked up those ladies. The first said
No, she could not vouch for anything. She had seen nothing.
I had better consult somebody else. The next answered in
the same way, and nowhere was I able to find any corrobora-
tion of the girl's story. Yet the little girl did not look like
a Uar, and I believe that she was fuUy convinced of the
miraculous nature of her cure. It is the facts themselves
which lie.
'Lourdes, the Grotto, the cures, the miracles, are, indeed,
the creation of that need of the Lie, that necessity for credulity,
which is a characteristic of human nature. At first, when
little Bernadette came with her strange story of what she had
witnessed, everybody was against her. The Prefect of the
Department, the Bishop, the clergy, objected to her story.
But Lourdes grew up in spite of all opposition, just as the
Christian rehgion did, because suffering humanity in its
despair must cling to something, must have some hope : and,
on the other hand, because humanity thirsts after illusions.
In a word, it is the story of the foundation of all religions.'
To the above account of ' Lourdes ' as given by M. Zola
I should add that before commencing the work he had already
planned the trilogy of which it was to form the first section.
' Rome ' and ' Paris ' were not afterthoughts, as some have
imagined, but from the outset formed integral portions of
M. Zola's conception. Those who wish to understand that
conception rightly should therefore read all three works in
their proper sequence. At the same time each volume is in
some measure complete in itself, just as were the various
PREFACE ii
sections of M. Zola's ' Bougon-Macquart ' series, ^ihough
place-names have been chosen as titles for the three' sections
of the trilogy, these sections deal essentially with the three
cardinal virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity, each of which the
author discusses in turn. In ' Lourdes,' while freely admitting
the soul-hunger which consumes so large a part of humanity,
he argues that Faith in revealed religion is virtually dead, des-
troyed by free examination and the teachings of science. In
' Eome ' he argues that no Hope can be placed in Christianity
as typified by the Eoman Catholic Church, whose one great
object is earthly domination, and by no means the raising of
humanity to a higher plane. Finally, in ' Paris ' he points out
that Charity is powerless to relieve the sufferings of mankind ;
that all the ahns dispensed since the days of Christ are as a
mere drop of water beside the ocean of human wretchedness ;
and that the masses, after 1800 years of trial, now demand the
abolition of the system of doles and the inauguration of that of
Justice for one and all. And, in conclusion, with Faith dead,
Hope denied, and Charity powerless, he points to the eventual
collapse of Christianity, the decay of aU the superstitions and
delusions of the past, and the advent of a new religion in which
Science wiU play no inconsiderable part. Such, briefly, is the
purport of these books 'Lourdes,' ' Eome,' and ' Paris,' which, I
believe, wUl eventually take prominent rank among the great
literary and philosophical efforts of the age.
As for ' Lourdes," the very great success and controversy
which attended its original publication will be fresh in the
minds of all who follow what is called ' the literary move-
ment.' No book written by M. Zola has circulated more
widely ; none has been more vehemently discussed. It has
never been answered by its adversaries, for one cannot confer
the rank of an answer on the farrago of nonsense which
Monseigneur Eicard, a prelate of the Papal Household and
Vicar-General of Aix, penned under the title of 'La Vraie
Bernadette de Lourdes,' shortly after M. Zola's work had
appeared. It has been stated that Monseigneur Eicard was
especially chosen by Pope Leo XIII. for the purpose of
xii LOURDES
annihilating M. Zola by a prodigioas counterblast, but how
little he was fit for such a task may be seen by anyone on
turning to the pages of ' La Vraie Bernadette.' The Catholia
Church in France, as elsewhere, numbers many divines of
distinguished Hterary attainments among its members, and I
am surprised that none of them should have entered the lists
against M. Zola, but possibly ecclesiastical discipline prevented
them from doing so. At all events, apart from the painful
exhibition which Monseigneur Eicard made of himself, there
has, hitherto, been no genuine effort to answer ' Lourdes."
That the Fathers of the Holy Grotto were deeply incensed
by the work is well known. A few months after it had been
first published I went to ' Lourdes,' which I had not visited
since 1875, the year when the great National Pilgrimages
were inaugurated. I found, of course, many changes, even as
is recorded in the following pages. However, whilst I strolled
through the town I inquired of various booksellers whether
they had M. Zola's work on sale, and invariably received a
negative answer. And at last I was informed that the Reverend
Fathers of the Grotto had brought all the pressure of their
great influence to bear on the Lourdes booksellers, with the
result that not one of the latter dared to sell the work. To
sell it meant a ' boycott,' or possibly notice to quit, or perse-
cution at the hands of the thousands of bigots who form the
vast majority of the Lourdes population. And thus after a
long search I was only able to discover M. Zola's work at the
railway bookstall, the property of Messrs. Hachette of Paris,
who rightly insisted upon freedom of action.
As another example of the hatred manifested against M.
Zola at Lourdes I may mention that, about the time of my
visit, a well-known French artist was sent to the town to make
sketches for an illustrated edition of the book which was then
being planned. No sooner, however, was this artist's purpose
ascertained than he was reviled, driven from his hotel, set
upon, and incessantly persecuted. Such are some of the
penalties which one has to pay^/hen one desires to further the
cause of truth.
PREFACE xiii
One other recollection attaches to this visit of mine to
Lourdes. Among the pDgrims who had just been healed at
the Holy Grotto was a Scotch lady who had travelled to the
shrine under much the same circumstances as Marie de Guer-
saint, M. Zola's heroine. And, curiously enough, she had
been cured in almost precisely the same manner as Marie.
The reader of this volume will therefore hear in mind that the
story told by M. Zola is no mere romance, but a story reared
on a substantial scientific basis, and as near to actual fact as
could be devised. M. Zola is always so careful, so precise in
all his statements, that the latter can hardly need any cor-
roboration from me. Yet I may say that on returning to
Lourdes I found his descriptions marvellously accurate. I
have only one criticism to offer : it is, that he has under-
stated rather than exaggerated the truth, especially with re-
gard to the vice which flaunts itself by night in the streets of
Lourdes. One who was with me vras amazed by it; but
personally, I was not surprised, for long acquaintance with
the southern lands of Europe has taught me that superstition
and vice ever go hand in hand.
Several editions of this translation of ' Lourdes ' have '
already been issued, and I have now carefully revised it, freely
availing myself of the suggestions both of the newspaper
reviev.-ers and of the legion of correspondents who for some
years have written to me to praise or blame my work.
I cannot say that this is now a perfect translation, but I
believe that I have considerably improved it, and at all events
it is as perfect as I myself can make it.
E. A. V.
Mebton, Scbrey:
July 1893.
CONTENTS
THE FIB8T DAY
PAOI
I. PILQIIIMS AND PATIENTS ....•«.. 1
II. PIEBBB AND MARIE *■ . .-.'. . • .,18
nl. POITIEBS .*.* '• • • tST
IV. MIBACIiES . . . . • . •'• • , , 56
T. BEBNADETTE ...... .•••78
THJE SECOND DAY
I. THE IBAIN ABBIVES 102
II. EOSFITAI. AND QBOTTO . 120
m. -FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 139
IT. TEBIEICATION • . . . 1S8
V, -BT'.p.MlTtTi'TTB'g TBIALS . . . ^ . • • . 178
THE TEIBD DAY
I. BED AND SOABD ■ . . 199
n. THE ' OBDINABi; ' 217
ni. THE HiaHT PBOCESSION 239
IT. THE Tiani . . . • 256
T. IHB TWO VICTIMS •••••••.. 276
LOURDES
TEE FOUBTH DAY
txas
294
I. THE BECIEKNESS OP DEATH .,..•••
n. IIIE SEEVICE AT THE GEOTTO • • • • • • • oW
III. HAEIE'S cube .ft •• 3"°
IV. IlilCMPH — DESPAIB ...■••••• °^''
T. CEAELB AND GEATE • • ^65
THE FIFTH DAY
I. EGOTISM AKD LOVE • ^°*
II. SLEASANT H0UK3 .. ..•_••• ^"'■
III. DEPAEIDKE .,...•••••• *^'
iy. maeie's tow • • • "^
V. THE DEATH OF BEENADETTE — THE SEW EELiaiOJI • • • »"''
L O U R D E S
TEE FIBST DAY
PILGEIMS AND PATIENTS
The pilgrims and patients, closely packed on the hard seats
of the third-class carriage, were just finishing the ' Ave maris
Stella,' which they had begun to chant on leaving the
terminus of the Orleans line, when Marie, slightly raised on
her couch of misery and restless with feverish impatience,
caught sight of the Paris fortifications through the window of
the moving train.
' Ah, the fortifications ! ' she exclaimed, in a tone which
was joyous despite her suffering. ' Here we are, out of Paris ;
we are off at last 1 '
Her delight drew a smile from her father, M. de Guer-
saint, who sat in front of her, whilst Abbe Pierre Froment,
who was looking at her with fraternal affection, was so
carried away by his compassionate anxiety as to say aloud :
* And now we are in for it till to-morrow morning. We shall
only reach Lourdes at three-forty. We have more than two
and twenty hours' journey before us.'
It was half-past five, the sun had risen, radiant in the
pure sky of a delightful morning. It was a Friday, the 19th
of August. On the horizon, however, some small heavy
clouds already presaged a terrible day of stormy heat. And
the oblique sun rays were enfilading the compartments of
the railway carriage, filling them with dancing, golden
dust. ^^ ^
2 LOURDES
' Yes, two and twenty hours,' murtnured Marie, relapsing
into anguish. ' Mon Dieu 1 what a long time we must still
wait ! ' • • ii.
Then her father helped her to he down agam m tne
narrow box, a kind of wooden gutter, in which she had been
living for seven years past. Making an exception in her
favour, the railway officials had consented to take as luggage
the two pairs of wheels which could be removed from the box,
or fitted to it whenever it became necessary to transport her
from place to place. Packed between the sides of this
movable coiBn, she occupied the room of three passengers on
the carriage seat ; and for a moment she lay there with eyes
closed. Although she was three and twenty, her ashen,
emaciated face was stUl delicately infantile, charming despite
everything, in the midst of her marvellous fair hair, the hair
of a queen, which illness had respected. Clad with the utmost
simplicity in a gown of thin woollen stuff, she wore, hanging
from her neck, the card bearing her name and number, which
entitled her to hospitalisation, or free treatment. She herself
had insisted on making the journey in this humble fashion,
not wishing to be a source of expense to her relatives, who
little by little had fallen into very straitened circumstances.
And thus it was that she found herself in a third-class
carriage of the 'white train,* the train which carried tbe
greatest sufferers, the most woeful of the fourteen trains going
to Lourdes that day, the one in which, in addition to five
hundred healthy pilgrims, nearly three hundred imfortunate
wretches, weak to the point of exhaustion, racked by suffer-
ing, were heaped together, and borne at express speed from
one to the other end of France.
Sorry that he had saddened her, Pierre continued to gaze
at her with the air of a compassionate elder brother. He had
just completed his thirtieth year, and was pale and slight,
with a broad forehead. After busying himself with all tho
arrangements for the journey, he had been desirous of ac-
companying her, and, having obtained admission among the
Hospitallers of Our Lady of Salvation as an auxiliary mem-
ber, wore on his cassock the red, orange-tipped cross of a
bearer. M. de Guersaint on his side had simply pinned the
little scarlet cross of the pilgrimage on his grey cloth jacket
The idea of travelling appeared to delight him ; although he
was over fifty he still looked young, and, with his eyes ever
wandering over the landscape, he seemed unable to keep, his
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS 3
head still — a bird-like head it was, with an expression of good
nature and absent-mindedness.
However, in spite of the violent shaking of the train,
which constantly drew sighs from Marie, Sister Hyacinthe
had risen to her feet in. the adjoining compartment. She
noticed that the sun's rays were streaming in the girl's face.
'Pulldown the bUnd, Monsieur I'Abb^,' she said to Pierre.
' Come, come, we must install ourselves properly, and set our
little household in order.'
Clad in the black robe of a Sister of the Assumption,
enlivened by a white coif, a white wimple, and a large white
apron. Sister Hyacinthe smiled, the picture of courageous
activity. Her youth bloomed upon her small, fresh lips, and
in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes, whose expression
was ever gentle. She was not pretty, perhaps, still she was
charming, slender and tall, the bib of her apron covering a
flat chest like that of a young man; one of good heart,
displaying a snowy complexion, and overflowing with health,
gaiety, and innocence.
' But this sun is already roasting us,' said she ; ' pray pull
down your blind as well, madame.'
Seated in the comer, near the Sister, was Madame do
JonquiSre, who had kept her little bag on her lap. She
slowly pulled down the bhnd. Dark, and well built, she was
still nice-looking, although she had a daughter, Eaymonde,
who was four and twenty, and whom for motives of propriety
she had placed in the charge of two lady-hpspitallers, Madame
D^sagneaux and Madame Volmar, in a first-class carriage.
For her part, directress as she was of a ward of the Hospital
of Our Lady of Dolours at Lourdes, she did not quit her
patients ; and outside, swinging against the door of her com-
partment, was the regulation placard bearing under her own
name those of the two Sisters of the Assumption who accom-
panied her. The widow of a ruined man, she lived with her
daughter on the scanty income of four or five thousand francs
a year, at the rear of a courtyard in the Rue Vanneau. But
her charity was inexhaustible, and she gave all her time to
the work of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, an in-
stitution whose red cross she wore on her gown of carmeUta
poplin, and whose aims she furthered with the most active zeal.
Of a somewhat proud disposition, fond of being flattered and
loved, she took great delight in this annual journey, from
which both her heart and her passion derived contentment.
b3
4 LOVRDES
'You are right, Sister,' she said, 'we will organiss
matters. I really don't know why I am encumhering myself
with this bag.'
And thereupon she placed it under the seat, near her.
' Wait a moment,' resumed Sister Hyacinthe ; ' you have
the water-can between your legs — it is in your way.'
' No, no, it isn't, I assure you. Let it be. It must alwaya
be somewhere.'
Then they both set their house in order as they expressed
it, so that for a day and a night they might live with their
patients as comfortably as possible. The worry was that
they had not been able to take Marie into their compartment,
as she wished to have Pierre and her father near her ; how-
ever neighbourly intercourse was easy enough over the low
partition. Moreover the whole carriage, with its five com-
partments of ten seats each, formed but one moving chamber,
a common room as it were which the eye took in at a glance
from end to end. Between its wooden walls, bare and yellow,
under its white-painted panelled roof, it showed like a
hospital ward, with all the disorder and promiscuous
jumbhng together of an improvised ambulance. Basins,
brooms, and sponges lay about, half-hidden by the seats.
Then, as the train only carried such luggage as the pilgrims
could take with them, there were valises, deal boxes, bonnet
boxes and bags, a wretched pile of poor worn-out things
mended with bits of string, heaped up a little bit everywhere ;
and overhead the litter began again, what with articles of
clothing, parcels and baskets hanging from brass pegs and
swinging' to and fro without a pause.
■ Amidst all this frippery the more afflicted patients,
stretched on their narrow mattresses, which took up the room
of several passengers, were shaken, carried along by the
rumbling gyrations of the wheels ; whilst those who were able
to remain seated, leaned against the partitions, their faces
pale, their heads resting upon piUows. According to the
regulations there should have been one lady-hospitaller to
each compartment. However, at the other end of the
carriage there was but a second Sister of the Assumption,
Sister Claire des Anges. Some of the pilgrims who were in
good health were already getting up, eating and drinking.
One compartment was entirely occupied by women, ten
pUgrims closely pressed together, young ones and old ones,
nil, sadly, .pitifully ugly. And as nobody dared to open the
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS 'J
windows on account of the consumptives in the carriage, the
heat soon began to make itself felt, and an unbearable odour
arose, set free as it were by the jolting of the train as it went
its way at express speed.
They had said -their chaplets at Juvisy ; and six o'clock
was striking, and they were rushing like a hurricane past the
station of Bretigny, when Sister Hyacinthe rose up. It was
she who directed the pious exercises, which most of the
pilgrims followed from small, blue-covered books.
' The Angelus, my children,' said she with her pleasant
smile, her maternal air which her great youth rendered so
charming and so sweet.
Then the ' Aves ' again followed one another, and were
drawing to an end when Pierre and Marie began to feel
interested in two women who occupied the other corner seats
of their compartment. One of them, she who sat at Marie's
feet, was a blonde of slender build and bourgeoise appearance,
some thirty and odd years of age, and faded before she had
grown old. She shrank back, scarcely occupying any room,
wearing a dark dress, and showing colourless hair, and a long
grief-stricken face which expressed unlimited self-abandon-
ment, infinite sadness. The woman in front of her, she who
sat on the same seat as Pierre, was of the same age, but
belonged to the working classes. She wore a black cap and
displayed a face ravaged by wretchedness and anxiety, whilst
on her lap she held a Httle girl of seven, who was so pale, so
wasted by illness, that she seemed scarcely four. With her
nose contracted, her eyelids lowered and showing blue in her
waxen face, the child was unable to speak, unable to give,
utterance to more than a low plaint, a gentle rnoan, which
rent the heart of her mother, leaning over her, each time that
she heard it.
' Would she eat a few grapes ? ' timidly asked the lady
who had hitherto preserved silence. 'I have some in my
basket.'
' Thank you; madame,' replied the woman, ' she only takes
milk, and sometimes not even that willingly, I took care to
bring a bottleful with me.'
Then, giving way to the desire which possesses the
wretched to confide their woes to others, she began to relate
her story. Her name was Vincent, and her husband, a gilder
by trade, had been carried off by consTunption. Left alone
with her little Bose, who was the passion of her heart, she
6 . LOURDES
had worked by day and night at her calling as a dressmaker
in order to bring the child up. But disease had come, and
for fourteen months now she had had her in her arms lite
that, growing more and more woeful and wasted until reduced
almost to nothingness. She, the mother, who never went to
mass, had one day entered a church, impelled by despair to
pray for her daughter's cure ; and there she had heard a
voice which had told her to take the little one to Lourdes,
where the Blessed Virgin would have pity on her._ Acquainted
with nobody, not knowing even how the pilgrimages were
organised, she had had but one idea — to work, save up the
money necessary for the journey, take a ticket, and start off
with the thirty sous remaining to her, destitute of allsuppUes
save a bottle of milk for the clrild, not having even thought of
purchasing a crust of bread for herself.
' What is the poor little thing suffering from ? ' resumed
the lady.
' Oh, it must be consumption of the bowels, madame 1 But
the doctors have names they give it. At first she only had
slight pains in the stomach. Then her stomach began to
swell and she suffered, oh, so dreadfully ! it made one cry to
see her. Her stomach has gone down now, only she's worn
out ; she has got so thin that she has no legs left her, and
she's wasting away with continual sweating.'
Then, as Eose, raising her eyelids, began to moan, her
mother leant over her, distracted and turning pale. ' What
is the matter, my jewel, my treasure ? ' she asked. • Do you
want to drink ? '
But the little girl was already closing her dim eyes of a
hazy sky-blue hue, and did not even answer, but relapsed
into her torpor, quite white in the white frock she wore — a last
coquetry on the part of her mother, who had gone to this
useless expense in the hope that the Virgin would be more
compassionate and gentle to a little sufferer who was well
dressed, so immaculately white.
There was an interval of silence, and then Madame
Vincent inquired : ' And you, madame, it's for yourself no
doubt that you are going to Lourdes ? One can see very well
that you are ill.'
But the lady, with a frightened look, shrank woefully into
her corner, mtirmuring : ' No, no, I am not iU. Would to
God that I were ! I should suffer less."
Her name vras Madame Maze, and her heart was full of
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS 7
an incurable grief. After a love marriage to a big, gay
fellow with ripe, red lips,, she had found herself deserted at the
end of a twelvemonth's honeymoon. Ever travelling, follow-
ing the profession of a jeweller's bagman, her husband, who
earned a deal of money, would disappear for six months at a
stretch, deceive her from one frontier to the other of France,
at times even carrying creatures about with him. And she
worshipped him ; she suffered so frightfully from it all that
she had sought a remedy in rehgion, and had at last made
up her mind to repair to Lourdes, in order to pray the Virgin
to restore her husband to her and make him amend his
ways.
Although Madame Vincent did not understand the other's
words, she realised that she was a prey to great mental
afBiction, and they continued looking at one another, the
mother, whom the sight of her dying daughter was killing,
and the abandoned wife, whom her passion cast into throes
of death-Kke agony.
However, Pierre, who, like Marie, had been listening to
the conversation, now intervened. He was astonished that
the dressmaker had not sought free treatment for her little
patient. The Association of Our Lady of Salvation had been
founded by the Augustine Fathers of the Assumption after
the Franco-German War, with the object of contributing to
the salvation of France and the defence of the Church by
prayer in common and the practice of charity; and it was
this association which had promoted the great pilgrimage
movement, in particular initiating and unremittingly extend-
ing the national pilgrimage which every year, towards the
close of August, set out for Lourdes. An elaborate organisa-
tion had been gradually perfected, donations of considerable
amounts were collected in all parts of the world, sufferers
were enrolled in every parish, and agreements were signed
with the railway companies, to say nothing of the active help
of the Little Sisters of the Assumption and the establishment
of the HospitaUty of Our Lady of Salvation, a widespread
brotherhood of the benevolent, in which one beheld men and
women, mostly belonging to society, who, under the orders of
the pilgrimage managers, nursed the sick, helped to transport
them, and watched over the observance of good discipline. A
written request was needed for the sufferers to obtain fws^pitaU-
sation, which dispensed them from making the smallest
payment in respect either of their journey or their sojourn ;
8 LOURDES
they were fetched from their homes and conveyed back
thither ; and they simply had to provide a few provisions for
the road. By far the greater number were recommended by
priests or benevolent persons, who superintended the inquiries
concerning them and obtained the needful papers, such as
doctors' certificates and certificates of birth. And, these
matters bemg settled, the sick ones had nothing further to
trouble about, they became but so much suffering flesh, food
for mu:aoles, in the hands of the hospitallers of either sex.
' But you need only have appUed to your parish priest,
madame,' Pierre explained. * This poor child is^ deserving
of every sympathy. She would have been immediately
admitted.'
' I did not know it, Monsieur I'Abb^.'
' Then how did you manage ? '
' Why, Monsieur I'Abb^, I went to take a ticket at a place
which one of my neighbours, who reads the newspapers, told
me about.'
She was referring to the tickets, at greatly reduced rates,
which were issued to the pilgrims possessed of means. And
Marie, listening to her, felt great pity for her, and also some
shame ; for she who was not entirely destitute of resources
had succeeded in obtaining hospitalisation, thanks to Pierre,
whereas that mother and her sorry child, after exhausting
their scanty savings, remained without a copper.
However, a more violent jolt of the carriage drew a cry of
pain from the girl. ' Oh, father,' she said, ' pray raise me a
little 1 I can't stay on my back any longer.'
When M. de Guersaint had helped her into a sitting
posture, she gave a deep sigh of relief. They were now at
iStampes, after a run of an hour and a half from Paris, and
what with the increased warmth of the sun, the dust, and the
noise, weariness was becoming apparent already. Madame
de JonquiSre had got up to speak a few words of kindly
encouragement to Marie over the partition ; and Sister
Hyacinthe moreover again rose, and gaily clapped her hands
that she might be heard and obeyed from one to the other
end of the carriage.
' Come, come ! ' said she, ' we mustn't think of our little
troubles. Let us pray and sing, and the Blessed Virgin will
be with us.*
She herself then began the Rosary according to the rite
of Our Lady of I^ourdes, and all the patients and pilgrims
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS 9
followed her. This was the first chaplet — ^the five joyful
mysteries, the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Nativity, the
Purification, and Jesus found in the Temple, Then they all be-
gan to chant the canticle : ' Let us contemplate the heavenly
Archangel 1 ' Their voices were lost amid the loud rumbling
of the wheels ; you heard but the muffled surging of that
human wave, stifling within the closed carriage which rolled
on and on without a pause.
Although M. de Guersaint was a worshipper, he could
never follow a hymn to the end. He got up, sat down again,
and finished by resting his elbow on the partition and con-
versing in an undertone with a patient who sat against this
same partition in the next compartment. The patient in
question was a thick-set man of fifty, with a good-natured
face and a large head, completely bald. His name was
Sabathier, and for fifteen years he had been stricken with
ataxia. He only suffered pain by fits and starts, but he had
quite lost the use of his legs, which his wife, who accom-
panied him, moved for him as though they had been dead
legs, whenever they became too heavy, weighty like bars of
lead.
'Yes, monsieur,' he said, 'such as you see me, I was
formerly fifth class professor at the Lycde Charlemagne. At
first I thought that it was mere sciatica, but afterwards I was
seized with sharp, hghtning-hke pains, red-hot sword thrusts,
you know, in the muscles. During nearly ten years the
disease kept on mastering me more and more. I consulted
all the doctors, tried every imaginable mineral spring, and
now I suffer less, but I can no longer move from my seat. And
then, after long living without a thought of religion, I was
led back to God by the idea that I was too wretched, and that
Our Lady of Lourdes could not do otherwise than take pity
on me.'
Feeling interested, Pierre in his turn had leant over the
partition and was listening.
' Is it not so. Monsieur I'Abb^ ? ' continued M. Sabathier.
'Is not suffering the best awakener of souls? This is the
seventh year that I am going to Lourdes without despairing
of cure. This year the Blessed Virgin will cure me, I feel
sure of it. ' Yes, I expect to be able to walk about again ; I
now live solely in that hope.'
M. Sabathier paused, he wished his wife to push his lega
9> Uttk more t9 the left ; and Pierre looked at him, astonished
10 LOURDES
to find such obstinate faith in a man of intellect, in one of
those university professors who, as a rula, are such Voltairians.
How could the belief in miracles have germinated and taken
root in this man's brain ? As he himself said, great suffering
alone explained this need of illusion, this blossoming of
eternal and consolatory hope.
'And my wife and I,' resumed the ex-professor, 'are
dressed, you see, as poor folks, for I wished to go as a mere
pauper this year, and applied for hospitalisation in a spirit
of humility in order that the Blessed Virgin might include
me among the wretched, her children — only, as I did not wish
to take the place of a real pauper, I gave fifty francsto the
HospitaUt6, and this, as you are aware, gives one the right to
have a patient of one's own in the pilgrimage. I even know
my patient. He was introduced to me at the railway station.
He is Buffering from tuberculosis, it appears, and seemed to
me very low, very low.'
A fresh interval of silence ensued. 'Well,' said M.
Sabathier at last, ' may the Blessed Virgin save him also, she
who can do everything. I shall be so happy, she will have
loaded me with favours.'
Then the three men, isolating themselves from the others,
went on conversing together, at first on medical subjects, and
at last diverging into a discussion on romanesque architecture,
d propos of a steeple which they had perceived on a hillside,
and which every pilgrim had saluted with a sign of the cross.
Swayed once more by the habits of cultivated intellect, the
young priest and his two companions forgot themselves
together in the midst of their fellow-passengers, all those
poor, suffering, simple-minded folk, whom wretchedness
stupefied. Another hour went by, two more canticles had
just been sung, and the stations of Toury and Les Aubrais
had been left behind, when, at Beaugency, they at last ceased
their chat, on hearing Sister Hyacinthe clap her hands and
intonate in her fresh, sonorous voice :
' Farce, Dominc, parce populo tuo.'
And then the chant went on ; all voices became mingled
in that ever-surging wave of prayer which stilled pain, excited
hope, and little by Utile penetrated the entire being, harassed
by the haunting thought of the grace and cure which one and
all were going to seek so far away.
However, as Pierre sat down again, he saw that Marie was
very pale, and had her eyes closed. By the painful contraction
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS ri
of her features he could tell that she was not sleeping. ' Are
you in greater suffering ? ' he asked.
' Yes, yes, I suffer dreadfully. I shall never last till the
end. It is this incessant jolting.'
She moaned, raised her eyelids, and, half fainting, re-
mained in a sitting posture, her eyes turned on the other
sufferers. In the adjoining compartment. La Grivotte, hitherto
stretched out, scarce breathing, like a corpse, had just raised
herself up in front of M. Sabatliier. She was a taU, slipshod,
Bingular-looHng creature of over thirty, with a round, ravaged
face, which her frizzy hair and flaming eyes rendered almost
pretty. She had reached the third stage of phthisis.
'Eh, mademoiselle,' she said, addressing herself in a
hoarse, indistinct voice to Marie, ' how nice it would be if we
could only doze off a little. But it can't be managed ; all
these wheels keep on whirling round and round in one's head.'
Then, although it fatigued her to speak, she obstinately
went on talking, volunteering particulars about herself. She
was a mattress-maker, and with one of her aunts had long
gone from yard to yard at Bercy to comb and sew up mat-
tresses. And, indeed, it was to the pestilential wool which
she had combed in her youth that she ascribed her malady.
For five years past she had been making the round of the
hospitals of Paris, and she spoke famUiarly of all the great
doctors. It was the Sisters of Charity, at the Lariboisiere
hospital, who, finding that she had a passion for religious
ceremonies, had completed her conversion, and convinced her
that the Virgin awaited her at Lourdes to cure her.
' I certainly need it,' said she. ' The doctors say that I
have one lung done for, and that the other one is scarcely any
better. There are great big holes you know. At first I only
felt bad between the shoulders and spat up some froth. But
then I got thin, and became a dreadful sight. And now I'm
always in a sweat, and cough tUl I think I'm going to bring
my heart up. And I can no longer spit. And I haven't the
strength to stand, you see. I can't eat.'
A stifling sensation made her pause, and she became
livid.
' All the same I prefer being in my skin instead of in that
of the Brother in the compartment behind you. He has
the same complaint as I have, but he is in a worse state than
lam.'
She was mistaken, In the farther compartment, beyond
u LOURDES
Marie, there was indeed a young missionary, Brother Isidore,
who was lying on a mattress and could not be seen, since he
was unable to raise even a finger. But he was not suffering
from phthisis. He was dying of inflammation of the liver,
contracted in Senegal, Very long and lank, he had a yellow
face, with skin as dry and lifeless as parchment. The abscess
which had formed in his Hver had ended by breaking out ex-
ternally, and amidst the continuous shivering of fever, vomit-
ing, and delirium, suppuration was exhausting him. His eyes
alone were stiU alive, eyes full of unextinguishable love, whose
flame Ughted up his expiring face, a peasant fece such as
painters have given to the crucified Christ, common, but ren-
dered sublime at moments by its expression of faith and passion.
He was a Breton, the last puny child of an over-numerous
family, and had left his little share of land to his elder brothers.
One of his sisters, Marthe, older than himself by a couple of
years, accompanied him. She had been in service in Paris,
an insignificant maid-of-aU-work, but withal so devoted to her
brother that she had left her situation to f oUow him, subsisting
soantUy on her petty savings.
' I was lying on the platform,' resumed La Grivotte, ' when
he was put in the carriage. There were four men carrying
him '
But she was unable to speak any further, for just then an
attack of coughing shook and threw her back upon the seat.
She was suffocating, and the red flush on her cheekbones
turned blue. Sister Hyacinthe, however, immediately raised
her head and wiped her lips with a linen cloth, which became
spotted with blood. At the, same time Madame de Jonquiere
gave her attention to a patient in front of her, who had just
fainted. She was called Madame Vetu, and was the wife of a
petty clockmaker of the Mouffetard district, who had not been
able to shut up his shop in order to accompany her to Lourdes.
And to niake sure that she would be cared for she had sought
and obtained hospitaKsaUon. The fear of death was bringing
her back to religion, although she had not set foot in church
since her first communion. She knew that she was lost, that
a cancer in the chest was eating into her ; and she already
had the haggard, orange-hued mark of the cancerous patient.
Smce the beginning of the journey she had not spoken a word,
but, suffering terribly, had remained with her lips tightly
closed. Then all at once, she had swooned away after an
attack of vomitiqg.
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS i%
• It is unbearable 1 ' murmured Madame de la JonquiSre,
who herself felt faint; 'we must let in a little fresh
air.'
Sister Hyacinthe was just then laying La Grivotte to rest
on her pillows. ' Certainly,' said she, ' we will open the win-
dow for a few moments. But not on this side, for I am afraid
we might have a fresh fit of coughing. Open the window on
your side, madame.'
The heat was still increasing, and the occupants of the
carriage were stifling in that heavy evil-smelling atmosphere.
The pure air which came in when the window was opened
brought relief however. For a moment there were other
duties to be attended to, a clearance and cleansing. The
Sister emptied the basins out of the window, whilst the lady-
hospitaller wiped the shaking floor with a sponge. Next,
things had to be set in order ; and then came a fresh anxiety,
for the fourth patient, a slender girl whose face was entirely
covered by a black fichu, and who had not yet moved, was
saying that she felt hungry.
With quiet devotion Madame de JonquiSre immediately
tendered her services. ' Don't you trouble, Sister,' she said,
' I will cut her bread into little bits for her.'
Marie, with the need she felt of diverting her mind from
her own sufferings, had already begun to take an interest in
the motionless sufferer whose countenance was hidden by
that black veil, for she not unnaturally suspected that it was
a case of some distressing facial sore. She had merely been
told that the patient was a servant, which was true, but the
poor creature, a native of Picardy, named Elise Bouquet, had
been obliged to leave her situation, and seek a home with a
sister who iU-treated her, for no hospital would take her in.
Extremely devout, she had for many months been possessed
by an ardent desire to go to Lourdes.
Whilst Marie, with dread in her heart, waited for the fichu
to be moved aside, Madame de Jonquiere, having out some
bread into small pieces, inquired maternally : ' Are they small
enough ? Can you put them into your mouth ? '
Thereupon a hoarse voice growled confused words under
the black fichu : ' Yes, yes, madame.' And at last the veil
fell and Marie shuddered with horror.
It was a case of lupus which had preyed upon the unhappy
woman's nose and mouth. Ulceration had spread, and
was hourly spreading — in short, all' the hideous peculiarities
•14 LOURDES
of this terrible disease were in full process of developttieni,
almost obliterating the traces of what once were pleasing
womanly lineaments.
' Oh, look Pierre 1 ' Marie murmured, trembling.
The priest in his turn shuddered as he beheld Elisa
Eouquet cautiously slipping the tiny pieces of bread into her
poor shapeless mouth. Everyone in the carriage had turned
pale at sight of the awful apparition. And the same thought
ascended from all those hope-inflated souls. Ah ! Blessed
Virgin, Powerful Virgin, what a miracle indeed if such an ill
were cured 1
' We must not think of ourselves, my children, if we wish
to get well,' resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who still retained her
encouraging smUe.
And then she made them say the second chaplet, the five
sorrowful mysteries : Jesus in the Garden of Olives, Jesus
scourged, Jesus crowned with thorns, Jesus carrying the cross,
and Jesus crucified. Afterwards came the canticle : ' In thy
help, Virgin, do I put my trust.'
They had just passed through Blois ; for three long hours
they had been rolling onward ; and Marie, who had averted
her eyes from Elise Eouquet, now turned them upon a man
who occupied a corner seat in the compartment on her left,
that in which Brother Isidore was lying. She had noticed
this man several times already. Poorly clad in an old black
frock-coat, he looked stiU young, although his sparse beard
was already turning grey ; and, short and emaciated, he
seemed to experience great suffering, his fleshless, livid face
being covered with sweat. However, he remained motionless,
ensconced in his corner, speaking to nobody, but staring
straight before him with dilated eyes. And all at once Marie
noticed that his eyehds were falling, and that he was fainting
away.
She thereupon drew Sister Hyacinthe's attention to him :
•Look, Sister 1 One would thmk that that gentleman is
dangerously ill.'
' Which one, my dear child ? '
' That one, over there, with his head thrown back.*
General excitement followed, all the healthy pilgrims rose
up to look, and it occurred to Madame de Jonqni^re to call to
Marthe, Brother Isidore's sister, and tell her to tap the man's
kands.
' Question him,* she added ; ' ask what ails him.?
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS ^ IS
Marthe dr&w near, shook the man and questioned him.
But instead of an answer only a rattle came from his
throat, and his eyes remained closed.
, Then a' frightened voice was heard saying, ' I think he is
going to die.'
The dread increased, words flew about, advice was tendered
from one to the other end of the carriage. Nobody knew the
man. He had certainly not obtaiaed hospitalisation, for no
white card was hanging from his neck. Somebody related,
however, that he had seen him arrive, dragging himself
along, but three minutes or so before the train started ;
and that he had remained quite motionless, scarce breathing,
ever since he had flung himself with an air of intense weari-
ness into that comer, where he was now apparently dying.
His ticket was at last seen protruding from under the band of
an old silk hat which hung from a peg near him.
' Ah, he is breathing again now ! ' Sister Hyacinthe
suddenly exclaimed. ' Ask him his name.'
However, on being again questioned by Marthe, the man
merely gave vent to a low plaint, an exclamation scarcely
articidat«d, ' Oh, how I suffer 1 '
And thenceforth that was the only answer that could be
obtained from him. With reference to everything that they
wished to know, who he was, whence- he came, what hia
illness was, what could be done for him, he gave no informa-
tion, but still and ever continued moaning, ' Oh, how I suffer
— ^how I suffer ! '
Sister Hyacinthe grew restless with impatience. Ah, if
she had only been in the same compartment with him 1 And
she resolved that she would change her seat at the first
station they should stop at. Only there would be no stoppage
for a long time. The position was beconaing terrible, the
more so as the man's head again feU back.
' He is dying, he is dyiag ! ' repeated the frightened
voice.
What was to be done, mon Dieu ? The Sister was aware
that one of the Fathers of the Assumption, Father Massias,.
was in the train with the Holy Oils, ready to administer
extreme unction to the dying; for every year some of the
patients passed away during the journey. But she did not
dare to have recourse to the alarm signal. Moreover, ia the
cantine van where Sister Saint Frangois officiated, there was
a doctor with a little medicine chest. If the sufferer should
i6 LOVRDES
survive until they reached Poitiers, where theM would be hall
an hour's stoppage, all possible help might be given to him.
But on the other hand he might suddenly expu:e. How-
ever, they ended by becoming somewhat calmer. The man,
although still unconscious, began to breathe in a more regular
manner, and seemed to fall asleep.
' To think of it, to die before getting there,' murmured
Marie with a shudder, ' to die in sight of the promised land !
And as her father sought to reassure her she added : ' I am
suffering — I am suffering dreadfully myself.'
' Have confidence,' said Pierre, ' the Blessed Virgin is
watching over you.'
She could no longer remain seated, and_ it. became
necessary to replace her in a recumbent position in her
narrow cofiSn. Her father and the priest had to take every
precaution in doing so, for the slightest hurt drew a moan
from her. And she lay there breathless, like one dead, her
face contracted by suffering, and surrounded by her regal fair
hair. They had now been rolling on, ever rolling on for
nearly four hours. And if the carriage was so greatly shaken,
with an unbearable spreading tendency, it was through being
at the rear part of the train. The coupling irons shrieked,
the wheels growled furiously ; and as it was necessary to
leave the windows partially open, the dust came in, acrid
and burning; but it was especially the heat which grew
terrible, a devouring stormy heat falling from a tawny sky
which large hanging clouds had slowly covered. The hot
carriages, those rolling boxes where the pilgrims ate, and
drank, where the sick lay in a vitiated atmosphere, amid
dizzying moans, prayers and hymns, became like so many
furnaces.
And Marie was not the only one whose condition had been
aggravated ; others also were suffering from the journey.
Besting in the lap of her despairing mother, who gazed at her
with large, tear-blurred eyes, little Rose had ceased to stir,
and had grown so pale that Madame Maze had twice leant
forward to feel her hands, fearful lest she should find them
cold. At each moment also Madame Sabathier had to move
her husband's legs, for their weight was so great, said he, that
it seemed as if his hips were being torn from him. Brother
Isidore too had just begun to cry out, emerging from his
accustomed torpor ; and his sister had only been able to
assuage his sufferings by raising him, and clasping him io
PILGRIMS AND PATIENTS 17
her arms. La Grivotte seemed to be asleep, but a continuous
hiccoughing shook her, and a tiny streamlet of blood dribbled
from her mouth. Madame Vetu had again vomited, EHse
Bouquet no longer thought of hiding the frightful sore open
on her face. And from the man yonder, breathing hard,
there still came a lugubrious rattle, as though he were at
every moment on the point of expiring. In vain did Madame
de Jonquiere and Sister Hyacinthe lavish their attentions on
the patients, they could but slightly assuage so much suffering.
At times it all seemed like an e'rfl dream — that carriage of
wretchedness and pain, hurried along at express speed, with a
continuous shaking and jolting which made everything hang-
ing from the pegs— the old clothes, the worn-out baskets
mended with bits of string — swing to and fro incessantly.
And in the compartment at the far end, the ten female
pilgrims, some old, some young, and all pitifully ugly, sang on
without a pause in cracked voices, shrill and dreary.
Then Pierre began to think of the other carriages of the
train, that white train which conveyed most, if not all, of the
more seriously afflicted patients ; these carriages were rolling
along, all displaying similar scenes of suffering among the
three hundred sick and five hundred healthy pilgrims crowded
within them. And afterwards he thought of the other trains
which were leaving Paris that day, the grey train and the
blue train' which had preceded the white one, the green
train, the yellow train, the pink train, the orange train which
were following it. From hour to hour trains set out from
one to the other end of France. And he thought, too, of
those which that same morning had started from Orleans,
Le Mans, Poitiers, Bordeaux, Marseilles, and Carcassonne.
Coming from all parts, trains were rushing across that land
of France at the same hour, all directing their course yonder
towards the holy Grotto, bringing thitty thousand patients
and pilgrims to the Virgin's feet. And he reflected that other
days of the year witnessed a like rush of human beings, that
not a week went by without Lourdes beholding the arrival
of some pilgrimage ; that it was not merely France which set
out on the march, but all Europe, the whole world ; that in
certain years of great religious fervour there had been three
' Different-coloured tickets are issued for these trains ; it is fo»
this reason that they are called th« white, blue, and grey trains, &o. —
Trans,
Q
I8 LOURDES
hundred thousand, and even five hundred thousand, pilgrims
and patients streaming to the spot.
, Pierre fancied that he could hear those flying trains, those
trains from everywhere, all converging towards the same
rooky cavity where the tapers were blazing. They all rumbled
loudly amid the cries of pain and snatches of hymns wafted
from their carriages. They were the roUing hospitals of
disease at its last stage, of human suffering rushing to the
hope of cure, furiously seeking consolation between attacks of
increased severity, with the ever-present threat^ of death —
death hastened, supervening under awful conditions, amidst
the mob-Uke scramble. They rolled on, they rolled on again
and again, they rolled on without a pause, carrjdng _th«
wretchedness of this world on its way to the divine illusion,
the health of the infirm, the consolation of the afflicted.
And immense pity overflowed from Pierre's heart, human
compassion for all the suffering and all the tears that con-
sumed weak and naked man. He was sad unto death and
ardent charity burnt within him, the unextinguishable flame
as it were of his fraternal feeliJags towards all things and
beings.
When they left the station of Saint Pierre des Corps at
half -past ten, Sister Hyaointhe gave the signal, and they recited
the third chaplet, the five glorious mysteries, the Eesurrection
of Our Lord, the Ascension of Our Lord, the Mission of the
Holy Ghost, the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin, the
Crowning of the Most Blessed Virgin. And afterwards they
Bang the canticle of Bernadette, that long, long chant, com-
posed of six times ten couplets, to which the Angelic Saluta-
tion, ever recurring, serves as a refrain — a prolonged lullaby
slowly besetting one until it ends by penetrating one's entire
being, transporting one into ecstatic sleep, in delicious expec-
tancy of a miracle.
n
FIEBBE AND MABIB
The green landscapes of Poitou were now defiling before
them, and Abb6 Pierre Froment, gazing out of the window,
watched the trees fly away till, little by little, he ceased to
distinguish them. A steeple appeared and thgn vanished,
PIERRE AND MARIE 19
and all the pilgrims crossed themselves. They would not
reach Poitiers until twelve-thirty-five, and the train was still
rolling on ^mid the growing weariness of that oppressive,
stormy day. Falling into a deej) reverie, the young priest no
longer heard the words of the canticle, which sounded in his
ears merely like a slow, wavy lullaby.
Forgetfulness of the present had come upon him, an
awakening of the past filled his whole being. He was re-
ascending the stream of memory, reascending it to its source.
He again beheld the house at Neuilly, where he had been
born and where he stiU Hved, that home of peace and toil,
with its garden planted with a few fine trees, and parted by a
quickset hedge and palisade from the garden of the neigh-
bouring house, which was similar to his own. He was again
three, perhaps four, years old, and round a table, shaded by
the big horse-chestnut tree, he once more beheld his father,
his mother, and his elder brother at dijeuner. To his father,
Michel Froment, he could give no distinct lineaments,; he
pictured him but faintly, vaguely, renowned as an illustrious
chemist, bearing the title of Member of the Institute, and
leading a cloistered life in the laboratory which he had installed
in that secluded, deserted suburb. However he could plainly
see first his brother Guillaume, then fourteen years of age,
whom some hohday had brought from coUege that morning,
and then and even more vividly his mother, so gentle and
so quiet, with eyes so full of active kindliness. Later
on he learnt what anguish had racked that religious soul,
that believing woman who, from esteem and gratitude,
had resignedly accepted marriage with an unbeliever, her
senior by fifteen years, to whom her relatives were indebted
for great services. He, Pierre, the tardy offspring of this
union, born when his father was already near his fiftieth year,
had only known his mother as a respectful, conquered woman
in the presence of her husband, whom she had learnt to love
passionately, with the frightful torment of knowing, however,
that he was doomed to perdition. And, aU at once, another
memory flashed upon the young priest, the terrible memory
of the day when his father had died, Idlled in his laboratory
by an accident, the explosion of a retort. He, Pierre, had
then been five years old, and he remembered the shghtest
incidents — his mother's cry when she had found the shattered
body among the remnants of the chemical appliances, then
her terror, her sobs, her prayers at the idea that God had
o3
20 LOURDES
slain the unbeliever, damned him for evermore. Not daring
to burn his books and papers, she had contented herself with
locking up the laboratory, which henceforth nobody entered.
And from that moment, haunted by a vision of hell, she
had had but one idea, to possess herself of her second son
who was still so young, to give him a strictly religious
training, and through him to ransom her husband, — secure
his forgiveness from God. Guillaume, her elder boy, had
abeady ceased to belong to her, having grown up at college,
where he had been won over by the ideas of the century ; but
she resolved that the other, the younger one, should not
leave the house, but should have a priest as tutor ; and her
secret dream, her consuming hope, was that she might some
day see him a priest himself, saying his first mass and
solacing souls whom the thought of eternity tortured.
Then, between green, leafy boughs, flecked with sunlight,
another figure rose vividly before Pierre's eyes. He suddenly
beheld Marie de Guersaiat as he had seen her one morning
through a gap in the hedge dividing the two gardens. M. de
Guersaint, who belonged to the petty Norman noblesse, was a
combination of architect and inventor ; and he was at that
time busy with a scheme of model dwellings for the poor, to
which churches and schools were to be attached ; an affair of
considerable magnitude, planned none too well, however, and
in which, with his customary impetuosity, the lack of foresight
of an imperfect artist, he was risking the three hundred thou-
sand francs that he possessed. A similarity of religious faith
had drawn Madame de Guersaint and Madame Froment
together ; but the former was altogether a superior woman,
perspicuous and rigid, with an iron hand which alone pre-
vented her household from ghding to a catastrophe ; and she
was bringing up her two daughters, Blanche and Marie, in
principles of narrow piety, the elder one already being as
grave as herself, whilst the younger, albeit very devout, was
still fond of play, with an intensity of life within her, which
found vent in gay peals of sonorous laughter. From their
early childhood Pierre and Marie played together, the hedge
was ever being crossed, the two families constantly mingled.
And on that clear smishiny morning, when he pictured her
parting the leafy branches, she was already ten years old. He,
who was sixteen, was to enter the seminary on the following
Tuesday. Never had she seemed to him so pretty. Her hair,
of a pure golden hue, was so long that wberj it was let down
PIERRE AND MARIE 21
it sufficed to clothe her. Well did he remember her face as
it had then been, with round cheeks, blue eyes, red mouth,
and skin of dazzling, snowy whiteness. She was indeed as
gay and brilliant as the sun itself, a transplendency. Yet
there were tears at the corners of her eyes, for she was aware
of his coming departure. They sat down together at the far
end of the garden, in the shadow cast by the hedge. Their
hands mingled, and their hearts were very heavy. They had,
however, never exchanged any vows amid their pastimes, for
their innocence was absolute. But now, on the eve of separa-
tion, their mutual tenderness rose to their lips, and they spoke
without knowing, swore that they would ever think of one
another, and find one another again, some day, even as one
meets in heaven to be very, very happy; Then, without
understanding how it happened, they clasped each other
tightly, to the point of suffocation, and kissed each other's
face, weeping the while hot tears. And it was that delightful
memory which Pierre had ever carried with him, which he
felt alive within him still, after so many years, and after so
many painful renunciations.
Just then a more violent shock roused him from his
reverie. He turned his eyes upon the carriage and vaguely
espied the suffering beings it contained-— Madame Maze mo-
tionless, overwhelmed with grief ; little Eose gently moaning
in her mother's lap ; La Grivotte, whom' a hoarse cough was
choking. For a moment Sister Hyacinthe's gay face shone
out amidst the whiteness' of her coif and wimple, dominating
aU the others. The painful journey was continuing, with a
ray of divine hope still and ever shining yonder. Then every-
thing slowly vanished from Pierre's eyes as a fresh wave of
memory brought the past back from afar ; and nothing of the
present remained save the lulling hymn, the indistinct voices
of dreamland, emerging from the invisible.
Henceforth he was at the seminary. The class-rooms,
the recreation ground with its trees, rose up clearly before
him. But all at once he only beheld, as in a mirror, the
youthful face which had then been his, and he contemplated
it and scrutinised it, as though it had been the face of a
Btra,nger. Tall and slender, he had an elongated visage, with
an unusually developed forehead, lofty and straight like a
tower ; whilst his jaws tapered, ending in a small refined
chin. He seemed, in fact, to be all brains; his mouth,
tather large, alone retained an expression of tenderness..
2?. LOVRDES
Indeed, when his usually serious face relaxed, his mouth and
eyes acquired an exceedingly soft expression, betokening an
unsatisfied, hungry desire to_Joxe, devote oneself, and live.
But, immediately afterwards, the look ofjntelleclual pasapn
would come back again, that intelleotuahty which had ever
consumed him with an anxiety to understand and know.
And it was with surprise that he now recalled those years of
seminary life. How was it that he had so long been able to
, accept the rude discipline of blind faith, of obedient belief
/in everything without the slightest examination? It had
been required of him that he should absolutely surrender his
reasoning faculties, and he had striven to do so, had succeeded
indeed in stifling his torturing need of truth. Doubtless he
had been softened, weakened by his mother's tears, had been
possessed by the sole deske to afford her the great happiness
she dreamt of. Yet now he remembered certain quiverings
of revolt ; he found in the depths of his mind the memory of
nights which he had spent in weeping without knowing why,
nights peopled with vague images, nights through which
galloped the free, virile life of the world, when Marie's face
incessantly returned to him, such as he had seen it one
morning, dazzling and bathed in tears, while she embraced
him with her whole soul. And that alone now remained;
his years of religious study with their monotonous lessons,
their ever similar exercises and ceremonies, had flown away
into the same haze, into a vague half-hght, fuU of mortsi
silence.
Then, just as the train had passed through a station at
full speed, with the sudden uproar of its rush, there arose
within him a succession of confused visions. He had noticed
a large deserted enclosure, and fancied that he could see him-
self within it at twenty years of age. His reverie was wander-
ing. An indisposition of rather long duration had, however,
at one time interrupted his studies, and led to his being sent
into the country. He had remained for a long time without
seeing Marie ; during his vacations spent at Neuilly he had
twice failed to meet her, for she was almost always travelling.
He knew that she was very ill, in consequence of a fall from
a horse when she was thirteen, a critical moment in a
girl's life ; and her despairing mother, perplexed by the con-
tradictory advice of medical men, was taMng her each year
to a different watering-place. Then he learnt the startling
news of the sudden tragical death of that mother, who
PIERRE AND MARIE 23
was so severe and yet so useful to her kin. Slie had been
carried off in five days by inflammation of the lungs, which
she had contracted one evening whilst she was out walking
at La Bourboule, through having taken off her mantle to
place it round the shoulders of Marie, who had been conveyed
thither for treatment. It had been necessary that the father
should at once start off to fetch his daughter, who was mad
with grief, and the corpse of his wife, who had been so
suddenly torn from him. And unhappily, after losing
her, the affairs of the family went from bad to worse in
the hands of this architect, who, without counting, flung his
fortune into the yawning gulf of his unsuccessful enterprises.
Marie no longer stirred from her couch ; only Blanche
remained to manage the household, and she had matters of
her own to attend to, being busy with the last examinations
which she had to pass, the diplomas which she was obsti-
nately intent on securing, foreseeing as she did that she
would some day have to earn her bread.
All at once, from amidst this mass of confused, half-
forgotten incidents, Pierre was conscious of the rise of a vivid
vision. lU health, he remembered, had again compelled him
to take a holiday. He, had just completed his twenty-fourth
year, he was greatly behindhand, having so far only secured
the four minor orders ; but on his return a sub-deaconship
would be conferred on him, and an inviolable vow would
bind him for evermore. And the Guersaints' little garden at
Neuilly, whither he had formerly so often gone to play, again
distinctly appeared before him. Marie's couch had been
rolled under the tall trees at the far end of the garden near
the hedge, they were alone together in the sad peacefulness
of an autumnal afternoon, and he saw Marie,- clad in deep
mourning for her mother and reclining there with legs inert ;
whilst he, also clad in black, in a cassock already, sat near
her on an iron garden chair. For five years she had been
suflfering. She was now eighteen, paler and thinner than
formerly, but stilL adorable with her regal golden hair, which
illness respected. He believed from what he had heard that
she was destined to remain infirm, condemned never to
become a woman, stricken even in her sex. The doctors,
who failed to agree respecting her case, had abandoned her.
Doubtless it was she who told him these things that dreary
afternoon, whilst the yellow withered leaves rained upon
them. However, he could not remember the words that they
2i LOURDES
had spoken ; her pale smile, her young face, still so charming
though already dimmed by regretfulness for life, alone re-
mained present with him. But he realised that she had
evoked the far-off day of their parting, on that same spot,
behind the hedge flecked with sunlight ; and all that was
already as though dead — their tears, their embrace, their
promise to find one another some day with a certainty of
happiness. For although they had found one another again,
what availed it, since she was but a corpse, and he was about
to bid farewell to the Hfe of the world? As the doctors
condemned her, as she would never be woman, nor wife,
nor mother, he, on his side, might well renounce manhood,
and annihilate himself, dedicate himself to God, to Whom
his mother gave him. And he still felt within him the
soft bitterness of that last interview : Marie smiling painfully
at memory of their ohUdish play and prattle, and speaking to
him of the happiness which he would assuredly find in the
service of God ; so penetrated indeed with emotion at this
thought, that she had made him promise that he would let
her hear him say his first mass.
But the train was passing the station of Sainte-Maure,
and just then a sudden uproar momentarily brought Pierre's
attention back to the carriage and its occupants. He fancied
that there had been some fresh seizure or swooning, but the
suffering faces that he beheld were still the same, ever con-
tracted by the same expression of anxious waiting for the
divine succour which was so slow in coming. M. Sabathier
was vainly striving to get his legs into a comfortable position,
whilst Brother Isidore raised a feeble continuous moan like
a dying child, and Madame YStu, a prey to terrible agony,
devoured by her disease, sat motionless, and kept her Hps
tightly closed, her face distorted, haggard, and almost black.
The noise which Pierre had heard had been occasioned by
Madame de Jonquiere, who whilst cleansing a basin had
dropped the large zinc water-can. And, despite their tor-
ment, this had made the patients laugh, like the simple souls
they were, rendered puerile by suffering. However, Sister
Hyacinthe, who rightly called them her children, children
whom she governed with a word, at once set them saying the
chaplet again, pending the Angelus, which would only be said
at Ch^tellerault, in accordance with the predetermined pro-
gramme. And thereupon the ' Aves ' followed one after the
other, spreading into a confused murmuring and mumbling
PIERRE AND MARIE 2$
amidst the rattling of the coupling irons and noisy growling
of the ■wheels.
Pierre had meantime relapsed into his reverie, and beheld
himself as he had been at six and twenty, when ordaiaed a
priest. Tardy scruples had come to him a few days before
his ordination, a semi-consciousness that he was binding
himself without having clearly questioned his heart and
mind. But he had avoided doing so, living in the dizzy
bewilderment of his decision, fancying that he had lopped off
aU. human ties and feehngs with a voluntary hatchet stroke.
His flesh had surely died with his childhood's innocent ->
romance, that white-skinned girl with golden hair, whom now
he never beheld otherwise than stretched upon her couch of
suffering, her flesh as lifeless as his own. And he had after-
wards made the sacrifice of his mind, which he then fancied
even an easier one, hoping as he did that determination would
sufBce to prevent him from thinking. Besides, it was too
late, he could not recoil at the last moment, and if when he
pronounced the last solemn vow he felt a secret terror, an
indeterminate but immense regret agitating him, he forgot
everything, savouring a divine reward for his efforts, on the ^
day when he afforded his mother the great and long-expected
joy of hearing him say his first mass.
He could stiU see the poor woman in the little Church of
Neuilly, which she herself had selected, the church where the
funeral service for his father had been celebrated ; he saw her
on that cold November morning, kneeling almost alone in the
dark little chapel, her hands hiding her face as she continued
weeping whilst he raised the Host. It was there that she
had tasted her last happiness, for she led a sad and lonely
life, no longer seeing her elder son, who had gone away,
swayed by other ideas than her own, bent on breaking off
all family intercourse since his brother intended to enter the
Church.' It was said that Guillaume, a chemist of great
talent, like his father, but at the same time a Bohemian,
addicted to revolutionary dreams, was living in a little house
in the suburbs, where he devoted himself to the dangerous
study of explosive substances ; and folks added that he was
living with a woman who had come no one knew whence.
This it was which had severed the last tie between himself
and his mother, all piety and propriety. For three years
Pierre had not once seen Guillaume, whom in his childhood
he had worshipped as a kind, merry, and fatherly big brother.
26 LOURDES
But there eame an awful pang to his heart — ^he once more
beheld his mother lying dead. This again was a thunderbolt,
an iUness of scarcely three days' duration, a sudden passing
away, as in the case of Madame de Guersaint. One evening,
after a wild hunt for the doctor, he had found her motionless
and quite white. She had died during his absence ; and his
lips had ever retained the icy thrill of the last kiss that he
had given her. Of everything else— the vigil, the preparations,
the funeral — he remembered nothing. All that had become
lost in the black night of his stupor and grief, grief so
extreme that he had almost died of it— seized with shivering
on his return from the cemetery, struck down by a fever
which during three weeks had kept him delirious, hovering
between life and death. His brother had come and nursed
him and had then attended to pecuniary matters, dividing
the little inheritance, leaving him the house and a modest in-
come and taking his own share in money. And as soon
as Guillaume had found him out of danger he had gone off
again, once more vanishing into the unknown. But then
through what a long convalescence he, Pierre, had passed,
buried as it were in that deserted house. He had done nothing
to detain Guillaume, for he realised that there was an abyss
between them. At first the solitude had brought him
suffering, but afterwards it had grown very pleasant, whether in
the deep silence of the rooms which the rare noises of the
street did not disturb, or under the screening, shady foliage
of the httle garden, where he could spend whole days without
seeing a soul. His favourite place of refuge, however, was
the old laboratory, his father's cabinet, which his mother for
twenty years had kept carefully locked up, as though to
immure within it all the incredulity and damnation of the
past. And despite the gentleness, the respectful submissive-
ness which she had shown in former times, she would per-
haps have some day ended by destroying aU her husband's
books and papers, had not death so suddenly surprised her.
Pierre, however, had once more had the windows opened, the
writing table and the bookcase dusted, and, installed in the
large leather armchair, he now spent dehcious hours there,
regenerated as it were by his ilhiess, brought back to hia
youthful days again, deriving a wondrous intellectual delight
from the perusal of the books which he came upon.
The only person whom he remembered having received
during those two months of slow recovery was Doctor Chaa-
PIERRE AND MARIE 27
saigne, an old friend of his father's, a medical man of real
merit, who, with the one ambition of curing disease, modestly
confined himself to the r6l& of the practitioner. It was in
vain that the doctor had sought to save Madame Froment,
but he flattered himself that he had extricated the young
priest from grievous danger ; and he came to see him from
time to time, to chat with him and cheer him, talking with
him of his father, the great chemist, of whom he recounted
many a charming anecdote, many a particular stiU glowing
with the flame of ardent friendship. Little by little, amidst
the weak languor of convalescence, the son had thus beheld
an embodiment of charming simplicity, affection, and good
nature rising up before him. It was his father such as he had
really been, not the man of stern science whom he had pictured
whilst listening to his mother. Certainly she had never
taught him aught but respect for that dear memory ; but had
not her husband been the unbeliever, the man who denied,
and made the angels weep, the artisan of impiety who sought
to change the world that God had made ? And so he had long
remained a gloomy vision, a spectre of damnation prowling
about the house, whereas now he became the house's very
light, clear and gay, a worker consumed by a longing for truth,
who had never desired anything but the love and happiness
of all. For his part, Doctor Chassaigne, a Pyrenean by birth,
born in a far-off secluded village where folks still beUeved in
sorceresses, inclined rather towards religion, although he had
not set his feet inside a church during the forty years that he
had been living in Paris. However, his conviction was abso-
lute : if there were a heaven somewhere Michel Froment was
assuredly there, and not merely there, but seated upon a
throne on the Divinity's right hand.
Then Pierre, in a few minutes, again lived through the
frightful torment which, during two long months, had ravaged
him. It was not that he had found controversial works of an
anti-rehgious character in the bookcase, or that his father,
whose papers he sorted, had ever gone beyond his technical
studies as a savant. But, little by little, despite himself, the
light of science dawned upon him, an ensemble of proven
phenomena, which demolished dogmas and left within him
nothing of the things which as a priest he should have believed.
It seemed, in fact, as though illness had renewed him, as
though he were again beginning to live and learn, amid the
physical pleasantness of convalescence, that still subsisting
28 LOURDES
weakness which lent penetrating lucidity to his brain. At the
seminary, by the advice of his masters, he had always kept
the spirit of inquiry, his thirst for knowledge, in check. Much
of that which was taught him there had surprised him ; how-
ever, he had succeeded in making the sacrifice of his mind
required of his piety. But now, aU the laboriously raised
scaffolding of dogmas was swept away in a revolt of that
sovereign mind which clamoiu'ed for its rights, and which he
could no longer silence. Truth' was bubbling up and over-
flowing in such an irresistible stream that he realised he would
never succeed in lodging error in his brain again. It was in-
deed the total and irreparable ruin of faith. Although he had
been able to kill his flesh by renouncing the romance of his
youth, although he felt that he had altogether mastered carnal
passion, he now knew that it would be impossible for him to
/ make the sacrifice of his intelligence. And he was not mis-
taken ; it was indeed his father again springing to life in the
depths of his being, and at last obtaining the mastery in that
dual heredity in which, during so many years, his mother had
dominated. The upper part of his face, his straight, towering
brow, seemed to have risen yet higher, whilst the lower part,
the small chin, the affectionate mouth, were becoming less
distinct. However, he suffered ; at certain twilight hours
when his kindliness, his need of love awoke, he felt distracted
-'■with grief at no longer believing, distracted with desire to be-
lieve again ; and it was necessary that the lighted lamp should
be brought in, that he should see clearly around him and
within him, before he could recover the energy and calnmess
of reason, the strength of martyrdom, the determination to
sacrifice everything to the peace of his conscience.
Then came the crisis. He was a priest and he no longer
believed. This had suddenly yawned before him like a bot-
tomless abyss. It was the end of his life, the collapse of
everything. What should he do ? Did not simple rectitude
require that he should throw off the cassock and return to the
world ? But he had seen some renegade priests and had de-
spised them. A married priest with whom he was acquainted
filled him with disgust. All this, no doubt, was but a survival
of his long reUgious training. He retained the notion that a
^priest cannot, must not, weaken ; the idea that when one has
dedicated oneself to God one cannot take possession of oneself
again. Possibly, also, he felt that he was too plainly branded,
too different from other men already, to prove otherwise than
PIERRE AND MARIE 29
awkwaid and unwelcome among them. Since he had been
fint nff from them he would remain apart in his grievous pride.
And, after days of anguish, days of struggle incessantly renewed,
in which his thirst for happiness warred with the energies
of his returning health, he took the heroic resolution that he y*
would remain a priest, and an honest one. He would find the
strength necessary for such abnegation. Since he had con-
quered the flesh, albeit unable to conquer the brain, he felt
sure of keeping his vow of chastity, and that would be un-
shakable ; therein lay the pure, upright life which he was
absolutely certain of living. What mattered the rest if he
alone suffered, if nobody in the world suspected that his heart
was reduced to ashes, that nothing remained of his faith, that
he was agonising amidst fearful falsehood? His rectitude
would prove a firm prop ; he would foUow his priestly calling
like an honest man, without breaking any of the vows that he
had taken ; he would, in due accordance with the rites, dis-
charge his duties as a minister of the Divinity, whom he
would praise and glorify at the altar, and distribute as the
Bread of Life to the faithful. Who, then, would dare to im-
pute his loss of faith to him as a crime, even if this great
misfortune should some day become known ? And what more
could be asked of him than Ufe-long devotion to his vow, re-
gard for his ministry, and the practice of every charity without
the hope of any future reward ? In this wise he ended by
calming himself, still upright, stUl bearing his head erect, with
the desolate grandeur of the priest who himself no longer
believes, but continues watching over the faith of others. And -y
he certainly was not alone ; he felt that he had many brothers,
priests with ravaged minds, who had sunk into incredulity,
and who yet, like soldiers without a fatherland, remained at
the altar, and, despite everything, found the courage to make
the divine illusion shine forth above the kneeling crowds.
On recovering his health Pierre had immediately resumed
his service at the little church of Neuilly. He said his mass
there every morning. But he had resolved to refuse any ap->-
pointment, any preferment. Months and years went by, and
he obstinately insisted on remaining the least known and the
most humble of those priests who are tolerated in a parish,
who appear and disappear after discharging their duty. The
acceptance of any appointment would have seemed to him an
aggravation of his falsehood, a theft from those who were mora
deserving than himself. And he had to resist frequent offera,
30 LOURDES
for it was impossible for his merits to remain unnoticed. In-
deed, his obstinate modesty provoked astonishment at the
archbishop's palace, where there was a desire to utilise the
power which could be divined in him. Now and again, it is
true, he bitterly regretted that he was not useful, that he did
not co-operate in some great work, in furthering the purifica-
tion of the world, the salvation and happiness of all, in accor-
dance with his own ardent, torturing desire. Fortunately his
time was nearly all his own, and to console himself he_ gave
rein to his passion for work by devouring every volume in hia
father's bookcase, and then again resuming and considering
his studies, feverishly pre-oooupied with regard to the history
of nations, full of a desire to explore the depths of the social
and religious crisis so that he might ascertain whether it were
really beyond remedy.
It was at this time, whilst rummaging one morning in one
of the large drawers in the lower part of the bookcase, that he
discovered quite a collection of papers respecting the appari-
tions of Lourdes. It was a very complete set of documents,
comprising detailed notes of the interrogatories to which Ber-
nadette had been subjected, copies of numerous official docu-
ments, and poUce and medical reports, in addition to many
private and confidential letters of the greatest interest. This
discovery had surprised Pierre, and he had questioned Doctor
Chassaigne concerning it. The latter thereupon remembered
that his friend, Michel Froment, had at one time passionately
devoted himself to the study of Bernadette's case ; and he
himself, a native of a village near Lourdes, had procured for the
chemist a portion of the documents in the collection. Pierre,
in his turn, then became impassioned, and for a whole month
continued studying the affair, powerfully attracted by the
visionary's pure, upright nature, but indignant with all that
had subsequently sprouted up — the barbarous fetishism, the
painful superstitions, and the triumphant simony. In the access
of unbelief which had come upon him, this story of Lourdes
was certainly of a nature to complete the coUapse of his faith.
However, it had also excited his curiosity, and he would have
liked to investigate it, to establish beyond dispute what scien-
tific truth was in it, and render to pure Christianity the service
of ridding it of this scoria, this fairy tale, aU touching and
childish as it was. But he had been obliged to relinquish his
studies, shrinking from the necessity of making a journey to
the Grotto, and finding that it would be extremely difficult to
PIERRE AND MARIE 31
obtain tho information which he still needed ; and of it all
there at last only remained within him a tender feeling for
Bemadette, of whom he could not think without a sensation
of delightful charm and infinite pity.
The days went by, and Pierre led a more and more lonely
life. Doctor Chassaigne had just left for the Pyrenees in a
state of mortal anxiety. Abandoning his patients, he had set
out for Cauterets with his ailing wife, who was sinking more
and more each day, to the infinite distress of both his charm-
ing daughter and himself. From that moment the little house
at NeuiUy fell into deathlike silence and emptiness. Pierrehad
no other distraction than that of occasionally going to see the
Guersaints, who had long since left the neighbouring house, but
whom he had found again in a small lodging in a wretched
tenement of the district. And the memory of his first visit to
them there was yet so fresh within him, that he felt a pang
at his heart as he recalled his emotion at sight of the hapless
Marie.
That pang roused him from his reverie, and on looking
round he perceived Marie stretched on the seat, as he had
found her on the day which he recalled, already imprisoned in
that gutter-like box, that cofBn to which wheels were adapted
when she was taken out of doors for an airing. She, formerly
so brimful of life, ever astir and laughing, was dying of inaction
and immobility in that box. Of her old-time beauty she had
retained nothing save her hair, which clad her as with a royal
mantle, and she was so emaciated that she seemed to have
grown smaller again, to have become once more a child. And
what was most distressing was the expression on her pale
face, the blank, frigid stare of her eyes which did not see, the
ever-hauntiag absent look, as of one whom her suiferkig
overwhelmed. However, she noticed that Pierre was gazing
at her, and at once desired to smile at him ; but irresistible
moans escaped her, and when she did at last smile, it was
like a poor smitten creature who is convinced that she will
expire before the miracle takes place. He was overcome
by it, and, amidst all the sufferings with which the carriage
abounded, hers were now the only ones that he beheld and
heard, as though one and all were summed up in her, in the
long and terrible agony of her beauty, gaiety, and youth.
Then by degrees, without taking his eyes off Marie, he
again reverted to former days, again Uved those hours, fraught
with a mournful and bitter charm, which he had often spent
32 LOURDES
beside her, when he called at the sorry lodging to keep her
company. M. de Guersaint had finally ruined himself by
trying to improve the artistic quality of the rehgious prints
so widely sold in Prance, the faulty execution of which
quite irritated him. His last resources had been swallowed
up in the failure of a colour-printing firm ; and, heedless as
he was, deficient in foresight, ever trusting ia Providence, his
childish mind continually swayed by illusions, he did not
notice the awful pecuniary embarrassment of the house-
hold ; but applied himself to the study of aerial navigation,
without even reaUsing what prodigious activity his elder
daughter, Blanche, was forced to display, in order to earn
the living of her two children, as she was wont to call her
father and her sister. It was Blanche who, by running about
Paris in the dust or the mud from morning to evening in order
to give French or music lessons, contrived to provide the
money necessary for the unremitting attentions which Marie
required. And Marie often experienced attacks of despair —
bursting into tears and accusing herself of being the primary
cause of their ruin, as for years and years now it had
been necessary to pay for medical attendance and for taking
her to almost every imaginable spring — ^La Bourboule, Aix,
Lamalou, Am61ie-les-Bains, and others. And the outcome of
ten years of varied diagnosis and treatment was that the
doctors had now abandoned her. Some thought her Ulness to
be due to the rupture of certain Hgaments, others believed in
the presence of a tumour, others again in paralysis due to
injury to the spinal cord, and as she, with maidenly revolt,
refused to undergo any examination, and they did not even
dare to address precise questions to her, they each contented
themselves with their several opinions and declared that she
was beyond cure. Moreover, she now solely relied upon the
Divine help, having grown rigidly pious since she had been
suffering, and finding her only relief in her ardent faith.
Thus, every morning she herself read the holy offices;
for to her great sorrow she was unable to go to church.
Her inert limbs now seemed quite lifeless, and she had sunk
into a condition of extreme weakness, to such a point, in fact,
that on certain days it became necessary for her sister to
place her food in her mouth.
Pierre was thinking of this when all at once he recalled an
evening he had spent with her. The lamp had not yet been
lighted, and as be sat begide her in the growing obscurity.
PIERRE AND MARIE 33
she suddenly told him that she wished to go to Lourdes, feel-
ing certain that she would return cured. He had experienced
an uncomfortable sensation on hearing her speak in this
fashion, and quite forgetting himself had exclaimed that it was
folly to believe in such childishness. He had hitherto made
it a rule never to converse with her on religious matters,
having not only refused to be her confessor, but even to advise
her with regard to the petty uncertainties of her pietism. In
this respect he was influenced by feelings of both shame and
compassion ; to lie to her of aU people would have made him
suffer, and, moreover, he would have deemed himself a criminal
had he even by a breath sullied the fervent pure faith which
lent her such strength against pain. And so, regretting that
he had not been able to restrain his exclamation, he remained
sorely embarrassed, when all at once he felt the girl's cold hand
take hold of his own. And then, emboldened by the darkness,
she ventured in a gentle, faltering voice, to tell him that she
already knew his secret, his misfortune, that wretchedness, so
fearful for a priest, of being unable to believe.
Despite himself he had revealed everything during their
chats together, and she, with the delicate intuition of a friend,
had been able to read his conscience. She felt terribly dis-
tressed on his account ; she deemed him, with that mortal moral
malady, to be more deserving of pity than herself. And then
as he, thunderstruck, was stiU unable to find an answer, ac-
knowledging the truth of her words by his very silence, she
again began to speak to him of Lourdes, adding in a low
whisper that she wished to confide him as well as herself to
the protection of the Blessed Virgin, whom she entreated to
restore him to faith^ And from that evening forward she did
not cease speaking on the subject, repeating again and again,
that if she went to Lourdes she would be surely cured. But she
was prevented from making the journey by lack of means
and did not even dare to speak to her sister of the pecuniary
question. So two months went by, and day by day she grew
weaker, exhausted by her longing dreams, her eyes ever turned
towards the flashing light of the miraculous Grotto far
away.
Pierre then experienced many painful days. He had at
first told Marie that he would not accompany her. But his
decision was somewhat shaken by the thought that if he made
up his mind to go, he might profit by the journey to con-
|inue his inquiries with regard to Bernadette, wl^oge charming
' " ■ ' i - - - . ■ • _
34 LOURDES
image lingered ia Ms heart. And at last he even felt pene-
trated by a delightful feeling, an unacknowledged hope, the
hope that Marie was perhaps right, that the Virgin might take
vpity on him and restore to him his former blind faith, the
faith of the child who loves and does not question. Oh I to
believe, to believe with his whole soul, to plunge into faith for
ever 1 Doubtless there was no other possible happiness. He
longed for faith with all the j oyousness of his youth, with all the
love that he had felt for his mother, with all his burning desire
to escape from the torment of understanding and knowing, and
to slumber for ever in the depths of divine ignorance. It was
cowardly, and yet so deUghtful ; to exist no more, to become
a mere thing in the hands of the Divinity. And thus he was
at last possessed by a desire to make the supreme experi-
ment.
A week later the journey to Lourdes was decided upon.
Pierre, however, had insisted on a final consultation of medical
men in order to ascertain if it were really possible for Marie
to travel ; and this again was a scene which rose up before
him, with certain incidents which he ever beheld whilst others
were abeady fading from his mind. Two of the doctors who
had formerly attended the patient, and one of whom believed
in the rupture of certain ligaments, whilst the other asserted
the case to be one of medullary paralysis, had ended by agree-
ing that this paralysis existed, and that there was also,
possibly, some ligamentary injury. In their opinion all the
symptoms pointed to this diagnosis, and the nature of the
case seemed to them so evident that they did not hesitate to
give certificates, each his own, agreeing almost word for word
with one another, and so positive in character as to leave no
room for doubt. Moreover, they thought that the journey
was practicable, though it would certainly prove an extremely
painful one. Pierre thereupon resolved to risk it, for he had
found the doctors very prudent, and very desirous to arrive at
the truth ; and he retained but a confused recollection of the
third medical man who had been called in, a distant cousin
of his named De Beauolair, who was young, extremely intelli-
gent, but little known as yet, and said by some to be rather
strange in his theories. This doctor, after looking at Marie
for a long time, had asked somewhat anxiously about her
parents, and had seemed greatly interested by what was told
him of M. de Guersaint, this architect and inventor witii a
weak and exuberant mind. Then he had desired to measure
PIERRE AND MARIE 35
the sufferer's visual field, and by a slight discreet touch had
ascertained the locality of the pain, which, under certain
pressure, seemed to ascend like a heavy shifting mass towards
the breast. He did not appear to attach importance to the
paralysis of the legs ; but on a direct question being put to
him he exclaimed that the girl ought to be taken to Lourdea
and that she would assuredly be cured there, if she herself
were convinced of it. Faith sufficed, said he, with a smijs ;
two pious lady Datiefit3."g his. whnTfa-neLJiiiiaTsent thither
liad retHTBg-d-hi radiant fiealth.
dMiii^-tM''preciEg__jeMvhad
Her^ren'-preflJctSdTnow the'iffi'a^ it
would be hke a Hghtning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation
of the entire being, whilst the evil, that horrid, diabolical
weight which stifled the poor girl, would once more ascend and
fly away as though emerging by her mouth. But at the same
time he flatly declined to give a certificate. He had failed to
agrree with his two confr&res, who treated him coldly, as though
they considered him a wUd, adventurous young fellow. Pierre
confusedly remembered some shreds of the discussion which
had begun again in his presence, some httle part of the dia-
gnosis framed by Beauclair. Fu'st, a dislocation of the organ,
with a slight laceration of the ligaments, resulting from the
patient's faU from her horse ; then a slow heaUng, everything
returning to its place, followed by consecutive nervous symp-
toms, so that the sufferer was now simply beset by her original
fright, her attention fixed on the injured part, arrested there
amidst increasing pain, incapable of acquiring fresh notions
unless it were under the lash of some violent emotion. More-
over, he also admitted the probability of accidents due to
nutrition, as yet unexplained, and on the course and impor-
tance of which he himself would not venture to give an
opinion. However, the idea that Marie dreamt her disease,
ib&i the fearful sufferings torturing her came from an injury
long since healed, appeared such a paradox to Pierre when
he gazed at her and saw her in such agony, her Umbs already
stretched out lifeless on her bed of misery, that he did not
even pause to consider it; but at that moment felt simply
happy in the thought that all three doctors agreed in authoris-
ing the journey to Lourdes. To him it was sufficient that
she Tn/ight be cured, and to attain that result he would have
followed her to the end of the world.
Ah ! those last days of Paris, amid what a scramble they
were spent ! The national pilgrimage was about to start,
d2
36 LOURDES
and in order to avoid heavy expenses, it had occurred to him
to obtain hospitalisation for Marie. Then he had been
obliged to run about in order to obtain his own admission, as
a helper, into the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. M.
de Guersaint was delighted with the prospect of the journey,
for he was fond of nature, and ardently desired to become
acquainted with the Pyrenees. Moreover, he did not allow
anything to worry him, but was perfectly willing that the
young priest should pay his railway fare, and provide for him
at the hotel yonder as for a child ; and his daughter Blanche,
having slipped a twenty-franc piece into his hand at the last
moment, he had even thought himself rich again. That poor
brave Blanche had a little hidden store of her own, savings to
the amount of fifty francs , which it had been absolutely necessary
to accept, for she became quite angry in her determination to
contribute towards her sister's cure, unable as she was to
form one of the party, owing to the lessons which she had
to give in Paris, whose hard pavements she must continue
pacing, whilst her dear ones were kneeling yonder, amidst
the enchantments of the Grotto. And so the others had
started off, and were now roUing, ever rolling along.
As they passed the station of Chatellerault a sudden burst
of voices made Pierre start, and drove away the torpor into
which his reverie had plunged him. What was the matter ?
Were they reaching Poitiers ? But it was only half -past
twelve o'clock, and it was simply Sister Hyacinthejwho had
roused him, by making her patients and pilgrims say the
Angelus, the three ' Aves ' thrite repeated. Then the voices
burst forth, and the sound of a fresh canticle arose, and con-
tinued like a lamentation. Fully five-and-twenty minutes
must elapse before they would reach Poitiers, where it seemed
as if the half-hour's stoppage would bring reUet to every
suffering ! They were all so uncomfortable, so roughly shaken
in that malodorous, burning carriage 1 Such wretchedness
was beyond endurance. Big tears coursed down the cheeks
of Madame Vincent, a muttered oath escaped M. Sabathier
usually so resigned, and Brother Isidore, La Grivotte, and
Madame Vetu seemed to have become inanimate, mere waifs
carried along by a torrent. Moreover, Marie no longer
answered, but had closed her eyes and would not open them,
pursued as she was by the horrible vision of Elise Bouquet's
face, that face with its gaping cavities which seemed to her
to be the image of death. And whilst the train increased its
POITIERS 37
speed, bearing all this human despair onward, under the
heavy sky, athwart the burning plains, there was yet another
scare in the carriage. The strange man had apparently
ceased to breathe, and a voice cried out that he was expiring.
Ill
POITIEES
As soon as the train arrived at Poitiers, Sister Hyaointhe
alighted in all haste, amidst the crowd of porters opening
the carriage doors, and of pilgrims darting forward to reach
the platform. ' Wait a moment, wait a moment,' she re-
peated, ' let me pass first. I wish to see if all is over.'
Then, having entered the other compartment, she raised
the strange man's head, and seeing him so pale, with such
blank eyes, she did at first think him already dead. At last,
however, she detected a faint breathing. ' No, no,' she then
exclaimed, ' he still breathes. Quick ! there is no time to be
lost,' And, perceiving the other Sister, she added : ' Sister
Claire des Anges will you go and fetch Father Massias, who
must be in the third or fourth carriage of the train ? Tell him
„that we have a patient in very great danger here, and ask
him to bring the Holy Oils at once.'
Without answering, the other Sister at once plunged into the
midst of the scramble. She was small, slender, and gentle,
with a meditative air and mysterious eyes, but withal ex-
tremely active.
Pierre, who was standing in the other compartment
watching the scene, now ventured to make a suggestion:
* And would it not be as well to fetch the doctor ? ' said he.
' Yes, I was thinking of it,' replied Sister Hyacinthe, ' and.
Monsieur I'Abbe, it would be very kind of you to go for him
yourself.'
It so happened that Pierre intended going to the eantine
carriage to fetch some broth for Marie. Now that she was
no longer being jolted she felt somewhat relieved, and had
opened her eyes, and caused her father to raise her to a sitting
posture. Keenly thirsting for fresh air, she would have much
liked them to carry her out on to the platform for a moment, but
she felt that it would be asking too much, that it would be too
38 LOURDES
troublesome a task to place her inside the carriage again. So
M. de Guersaint remained by himself on the platform, near the
open door, smoking a cigarette, whilst Pierre hastened to the
cantine van, where he knew he would find the doctor on duty,
with his little travelling pharmacy.
Some other patients, whom one could not think of remov-
ing, also remained in the carriage. Amongst them was La
Grivotte, who was stifling and almost delirious, in such a state
indeed as to detain Madame de Jonquiere, who had arranged
to meet her daughter Eaymonde, with Madame Volmar and
Madame D^sagneaux, in the refreshment-room, in order that
they might aU four lunch together. But that unfortunate
creature seemed on the point of expiring, so how could she
leave her all alone, on the hard seat of that carriage ? On his
side, M. Sabathier, likewise riveted to his seat, was waiting
for his wife, who had gone to fetch a bunch of grapes for
him; whilst Marthe had remained with her brother the
missionary, whose faint moan never ceased. The others,
those who were able to walk, had hustled one another in
their haste to alight, all eager as they were to escape for a
moment from that cage of wretchedness where their limbs had
been quite numbed by the seven hours' journey which they
had so far gone. Madame Maze had at once drawn apart,
straying with melancholy face to the far end of the platform,
where she found herseK all alone; Madame Yetu, stupefied
by her sufferings, had found sufficient strength to take a few
steps, and sit down on a bench, in the f uU sunlight, where she
did not even feel the burning heat ; whilst EUse Bouquet, who
had had the decency to cover her face with a black wrap, and
was consumed by a desire for fresh water, went hither and
thither in search of a drinking fountain. And meantime
Madame Vincent, walking slowly, carried her little Eose about
in her arms, trying to smile at her, and to cheer her by show-
ing her some gaudily coloured picture biUs, which the child
gravely gazed at, but did not see.
Pierre had the greatest possible difficulty to make his way
through the crowd inundating the platform. No effort of
imagination could enable one to picture the living torrent of
ailing and healthy beings which the train had here set down—
a mob of more than a thousand persons, just emerging from
suffocation, and bustling, hurrying, hither and thither. Each
carriage had contributed its share of wretchedness, like some
hospital ward suddenly evacuated ; and it was now possible to
POITIERS 39
form an idea of the frightful amount of suffering which this ter-
rible white train carried along with it, this train which dissemi-
nated a legend of horror wheresoever it passed. Some infirm
sufferers were dragging themselves about, others were being car-
ried, and many remained in a heap on the platform. There were
sudden pushes, violent caUs, innumerable displays of distracted
eagerness to reach the refreshment-rooms and the bii/vettc.
Each and all made haste, going wheresoever their wants
called them. This stoppage of half an hour's duration, the
only stoppage there would bo before reaching Lourdes, was,
after all, such a short one. And the only gay note, amidst
all the black cassocks and the threadbare garments of the
poor, never of any precise shade of colour, was supplied by the
smiling whiteness of the Little Sisters of the Assumption, all
bright and active in their snowy coifs, wimples, and aprons.
When Pierre at last reached the cantine van near the
middle of the train, he found it already besieged. There was
here a petroleum stove, with a small supply of cooking
utensils. The broth prepared from concentrated meat-extract
was being warmed in vyrought-iron pans, whilst the preserved
milk in tins was diluted and supplied as occasion required.
There were some other provisions, such as biscuits, fruit, and
chocolate, on a few shelves. But Sister Saint-Fran9ois, to
whom the service was entrusted, a short, stout woman of
five and forty, with a good-natured fresh-coloured face, was
somewhat losing her head in presence of all the hands so
eagerly stretched towards her. Whilst continuing her distri-
bution, she lent ear to Pierre, as he called the doctor, who
with his travelling pharmacy occupied another corner of the
van. Then, when the young priest began to explain matters,
speaking of the poor unknown man who was dying, a sudden
desire came to her to go and see him, and she summoned
another Sister to take her place.
' Oh ! I wished to ask you. Sister, for some broth for a
passenger who is Ul,' said Pierre, at that moment turning
towards her.
• Very well. Monsieur I'AbbS, I will bring some. Go on in
front.'
The doctor and the abb6 went off in all haste, rapidly
questioning and answering one another, whilst behind them
followed Sister Saint- Franjois, carrying the bowl of broth with
all possible caution amidst the jostling of the crowd. The
doctor was a dark-complexioned man of eight and twenty,
40 LOURDES
robust and extremely handsome, with the head of a young
Eoman emperor, such as may still be occasionally met with in
the sunburnt land of Provence. As soon as Sister Hyacinthe
caught sight of him, she raised an exclamation of surprise :
' What ! Monsieur Ferrand, is it you ? ' Indeed, they both
seemed amazed at meeting in this manner.
It is however the courageous mission of the Sisters of the
Assumption to tend the ailing poor, those who lie in agony in
their humble garrets, and cannot pay for nursing ; and thus
these good women spend their Uves among the wretched, instal-
ling themselves beside the sufferer's pallet in his tiny lodging,
ministering to every want, attending both to cooking and
cleaning, and living there Hke servants and relatives, until
either cure or death supervenes. And it was in this wise that
Bister Hyacinthe, young as she was, with her milky face, and
her blue eyes which ever laughed, had installed herself one
day in the abode of this young fellow, Ferrand, then a medical
student, prostrated by typhoid fever, and so desperately poor
that he lived in a kind of loft, under the roof, and reached by a
ladder, in the Eue du Four. And from that moment she had not
stirred from his side, but had remained with him until she
cured him, with the passion of one who Uved only for others,
one who when an infant had been found in a church porch,
and who had no other family than that of those who suffered,
to whom she devoted herself with all her ardently affectionate
nature. And what a dehghtful month, what exquisite comrade-
ship, fraught with the pure fraternity of suffering, had followed !
When he called her ' Sister,' it was reaUy to a sister that he
was speaking. And she was a mother also, a mother who
helped him to rise, and who put him to bed as though he
were her child, without aught springing up between them save
supreme pity, the divine, gentle compassion of charity. She
ever showed herself gay, sexless, devoid of any instinct
excepting that which prompted her to assuage and to console.
And he worshipped her, venerated her, and had retained of
her the most chaste and passionate of recollections.
' 0 Sister Hyacinthe 1 ' he murmured in delight.
Chance alone had brought them face to face again, for
Ferrand was not a believer, and if he found himself in that
train it was simply because he had at the last moment con-
sented to take the place of a friend who was suddenly pre-
vented from coming. For nearly a twelvemonth now he had
POITIMRS 41
been a house-surgeon at the Hospital of La Pitie. However,
this journey to Lourdes, in such peculiar circumstances,
greatly interested him.
The joy of meeting was making them forget the ailing
stranger. _ And so the Sister resumed : ' You see, Monsieur
Ferrand, it is for this man that we want you. At one
moment we thought him dead. Ever since we passed
Amboise he has been filling us with fear, and I have just sent
for the Holy Oils. Do you find him so very low ? Could
you not revive him a little ? '
The doctor was already examining the man, and there-
upon the sufferers who had remained in the carriage became
greatly interested and began to look. Marie, to whom Sister
Saint-Francois had given the bowl of broth, was holding it
with such an unsteady hand that Pierre had to take it from
her, and endeavour to make her drink ; but she could not
BwaUow, and she left the broth scarce tasted, fixing her eyes
upon the man, waiting to see what would happen like one
whose own existence is at stake.
' Tell me,' again asked Sister Hyacinthe, ' how do you
find him ? What is his illness ? '
' What is his illness ! ' muttered Ferrand ; ' he has every
iUness.'
Then, drawing a little phial from his pocket, he en-
deavoured to introduce a few drops of the contents between
the sufferer's clenched teeth. The man heaved a sigh, raised
his eyehds and let them fall again : that was all, he gave no
other sign of Hfe.
■Sister Hyacinthe, usually so calm and composed, so little
accustomed to despair, became impatient. ' But it is terrible,'
said she, ' and Sister Claire des Anges does not come back 1
Yet I told her plainly enough where she would find Father.
Massias's carriage. Mon Dieu ! what will become of us ? '
Sister Saint-Francois, seeing that she could render no help,
was now about to return to the cantine van. Before doing so,
however, she inquired if the man were not simply dying of
hunger ; for such cases presented themselves, and indeed she
had only come to the compartment with the view of offering
some' of her provisions. At last, as she went off, she promised
that she would make Sister Claire des Anges hasten her re-
turn should she happen to meet her ; and she had not gone
twenty yards when she turned round and waved her arm to call
42 LOURDES
attention to her colleague, who with discreet short steps was
coming back alone.
Leaning out of the window, Sister Hyacinthe kept on
caUing to her, ' Make haste, make haste 1 Well, and where
is Father Massias ? '
' He isn't there.'
•What! not there?'
' No. I went as fast as I could, but with all these people
about it was not possible to get there quickly. When I
reached the carriage Father Massias had already alighted, and
gone out of the station, no doubt.'
She thereupon explained, that according to what she had
heard. Father Massias and the priest of Sainte-Badegonde had
some appointment together. In other years, the national
pilgrimage halted at Poitiers for four-and-twenty hours, and
after those who were ill had been placed in the town hospital
the others went in procession to Sainte-Eadegonde.* That
year, however, there was some obstacle to this course being
followed, so the train was going straight on to Lourdes ; and
Father Massias was certainly with his friend the priest, talk-
ing with him on some matter of importance.
' They promised to tell him and send him here with the
Holy Oils as soon as they found him,' added Sister Claire.
However, this was quite a disaster for Sister Hyacinthe.
Since Science was powerless, perhaps the Holy Ofis would
have brought the sufferer some reUef. She had often seen that
happen.
' 0 Sister, Sister, how worried I am ! ' she said to her
companion. ' Do you know, I wish you would go back and
watch for Father Massias, and bring him to me as soon as
you see him. It would be so kind of you to do so I '
'Yes, Sister,' compliantly answered Sister Claire des
* The chnrch of Sainte-Badegonde, bnilt by the saint of that name in
the sixth century, is famous throughout Poitou. In the crypt between
the tombs of St. Agnes and St. Disciole is that of St. Kadegonde herself,
but it now only contains some particles of her remains, as the greater
portion was burnt by the Huguenots in 15C2. On a previous occasion
(1412) the tomb had been violated by Jean, Duke de Berry, who wished
to remove both the saint's head and her two rings. Whilst he was
making the attempt, however, the skeleton is said to have withdrawn its
hand so that he might not possess himself of the lings. A greater
curiosity which the church contains is a footprint on a stone slab, said
to have been left by Christ when He appeared to St. Badegonde in her
cell. This attracts pilgrims from many parts. — TraiM.
POITIERS 43
Anges, and off she went again with that grave, mysterious
air of hers, wending her way through the crowd like a gliding
shadow.
Ferrand, meantime, was still looking at the man, sorely
distressed at his inahihty to please Sister Hyacinthe by reviv-
ing him. And as he made a gesture expressive of his power-
lessness she again raised her voice entreatingly : < Stay with
me. Monsieur Ferrand, pray stay,' she said. ' Wait till Father
Massias comes — I shall be a little more at ease with you
here.'
He remained and helped her to raise the man, who was
slipping down upon the seat. Then, taking a linen cloth, she
wiped the poor fellow's face which a dense perspiration was
continually covering. And the spell of waiting continued
amid the uneasiness of the patients who had remained in the
carriage, and the curiosity of the folks who had begun to
assemble on the platform in front of the compartment.
All at once however a girl hastily pushed the crowd aside,
and, mounting on the footboard, addressed herself to Madame
de JonquiSre: 'What is the matter, mamma?' she said.
' They are waiting for you in the refreshment-room.'
It was Eaymonde de Jonquiere, who already somewhat ripe
for her five-and-twenty years, was remarkably Uke her mother,
being very dark, with a pronounced nose, large mouth, and
full, pleasant-looking face.
' But, my dear, you can see for yourself. I can't leave this
poor woman,' replied the lady-hospitaUer ; and thereupon she
pointed to La Grivotte, who had been attacked by a fit of
coughing which shook her frightfully.
' Oh, how annoying, mamma 1 ' retorted Eaymonde, •
' Madame D^sagneaux and Madame Volmar were looking for-
ward with so much pleasure to this httle lunch together.'
' Well, it can't be helped, my dear. At all events, yon can
begin without waiting for me. Tell the ladies that I will
come and join them as soon as lean.' Then, an idea occur-
ring to her, Madame de Jonquiere added : ' Wait a moment,
the doctor is here. I will try to get him to take charge of my
patient. Go back, I will follow you. As you can guess, I am
dying of hunger.'
Eaymonde briskly returned to the refreshment-room whilst
her mother begged Ferrand to come into her compartment
to see if he could do something to relieve La Grivotte. At
Marthe's request he had already examined Brother Isidore,
44 LOURDES
whose moaning never ceased ; and with a sorrowful gesture
he had again confessed his powerlessness. However, he
hastened to comply with Madame de Jonqui^re's appeal, and
raised the consumptive woman to a sitting posture in the hope
of thus stopping her cough, which indeed gradually ceased.
And then he helped the lady- hospitaller to make her swallow
a spoonful of some soothing draught. The doctor's presence
in the carriage was still causing a stir among the ailiig ones.
M. Sabathier, who was slowly eating the grapes which his wife
had been to fetch for him, did not however question Ferrand,
for he knew full well what his answer would be, and was
weary, as he expressed it, of consulting all the princes of
science ; nevertheless he felt comforted as it were at seeing
him set that poor consumptive woman on her feet again. And
even Marie watched all that the doctor did with increasing
interest, though not daring to call him herself, certain as she
also was that he could do nothing for her.
Meantime, the crush on the platform was increasing.
Only a quarter of an hour now remained to the pDgrims.
Madame Vetu, whose eyes were open but who saw nothing,
sat hke an insensible being in the broad sunlight, in the hope
possibly that the scorching heat would deaden her pains;
whilst up and down, in front of her, went Madame Vincent
ever with the same sleep -inducing step and ever carrying her
little Eose, her poor ailing birdie whose weight was so trifling
that she scarcely felt her in her arms. Many people mean-
time were hastening to the water tap in order to fill their
pitchers, cans, and bottles. Madame Maze, who was of refined
tastes and careful of her person, thought of going to wash her
hands there ; but just as she arrived she found Elise Kouquet
drinking, and she recoiled at sight of that disease- smitten
face, .so terribly disfigured and robbed of nearly all semblance
of humanity. And all the others likewise shuddered, likewise
hesitated to fill their bottles, pitchers, and cans at the tap from
which she had drunk.
A large number of pilgrims had now begun tij eat whilst
pacing the platform. You could hear the rhythmical taps of
the crutches carried by a woman who incessantly wended her
way through the groups. On the ground, a legless cripple
was painfully dragging herself about in search of nobody
knew what. Others, seated there in heaps, no longer stirred.
All these sufferers, momentarily unpacked as it were, these
patients of a travelling hospital emptied for a brief haU-hour,
POITIERS 4S
Were taking the air amidst the bewilderment and agitation of
the healthy passengers ; and the whole throng had a fright-
fully woeful, poverty-stricken appearance in the broad noon-
tide light.
Pierre no longer stirred from the side of Marie, for M.
de Gaersaint had disappeared, attracted by a verdant patch of
landscape which could be seen at the far end of the station.
And, feeling anxious about her, since she had not been able
to finish her broth, the young priest with a smiling air tried
to tempt her palate by offering to go and buy her a peach ;
but she refused it ; she was suffering too much, she cared for
nothing. She was gazing at him with her large, woeful
eyes, on the one hand impatient at this stoppage which
delayed her chance of cure, and on the other terrified at the
thought of again being jolted along that hard and endless
railroad.
Just then a stout gentleman whose full beard was turning
grey, and who had a broad, fatherly kind of face, drew near
and touched Pierre's arm : ' Excuse me. Monsieur I'Abb^,'
said he, ' but is it not in this carriage that there is a poor
man dying ? '
And on the priest returning an affirmative answer, the
gentleman became quite affable and familiar. ' My name is
Vigneron,' he said ; ' I am a head clerk at the Ministry of
Finances, and applied for leave in order that I might help
my wife to take our son Gustave to Lourdes. The dear lad
places all his hope in the Blessed Virgin, to whom we pray
morning and evening on his behalf. We are in a second-
class compartment of the carriage just in front of yours.'
Then, turning round, he summoned his party with a wave
of the hand. ' Come, come 1 ' said he, ' it is here. The un-
fortunate man is indeed in the last throes.'
Madame Vigneron was a little woman with the correct
bearing of a respectable bourgeoise, but her long livid face
denoted impoverished blood, terrible evidence of which , was
furnished by her son Gustave. The latter, who was fifteen
years of age, looked scarcely ten. Twisted out of shape, he
was a mere skeleton, with his right leg so wasted, so reduced,
that he had tb walk with a crutch. He had a small thin
face, somewhat awry, in which one saw little excepting his
eyes, clear eyes, sparkling with intelligence, sharpened as it
were by suffering, and doubtless well able to djve into the
human soul.
46 LOURDES
An old pufiy-faoed lady followed the others, dragging her
legs along with diflSculty ; and M. Vigneron, remembering
that he had forgotten her, stepped back towards Pierre so
that he might complete the introduction. ' That lady,' said
he, ' is Madame Chaise, my wife's eldest sister. She also
wished to accompany Gustave, whom she is very fond of.'
And then, leaning forward, he added in a whisper, with a
confidential air, ' She is the widow of Chaise, the silk
merchant, you know, who left such an immense fortune. She
is suffering from a heart complaint which causes her much
anxiety.'
The whole family, grouped together, then gazed with lively
curiosity at what was taMng place in the railway carriage.
People were incessantly flocking to the spot; and so that
the lad might be the better able to see, his father took him up
in his arms for a moment, whilst his aunt held the crutch,
and his mother on her side raised herself on tip-toe.
The scene in the carriage was still the same ; the strange
man was still stiffly seated in his corner, his head resting
against the hard wood. He was livid, his eyes were closed,
and bis mouth was twisted by suffering ; and every now and
then Sister Hyacinthe with her linen cloth wiped away the
cold sweat which was constantly covering his face. She no
longer spoke, no longer evinced any impatience, but had
recovered her serenity and relied on Heaven. From time to
time she would simply glance towards the platform to see if
Father Massias were coming.
* Look at him, Gustave,' said M. Vigneron to his son ; ' he
must be consumptive.'
The lad, whom scrofula was eating away, whose hip was
attacked by an abscess, and in whom there were already
signs of necrosis of the vertebrae, seemed to take a passionate
interest in the agony he thus beheld. It did not frighten him,
he smiled at it with a smile of infinite sadness.
' Oh ! how dreadful ! ' muttered Madame Chaise, who,
living in continual terror of a sudden attack which would
carry her off, turned pale with the fear of death.
' Ah I well,' replied M. Vigneron philosophically, ' it will
come to each of us in turn. We are all mortal.'
Thereupon, a painful mocking expression came over Gus-
tavo's smile, as though he had heard other vsrords than those —
perchance an unconscious wish, the hope that the old aunt
might die before he himself did, that he would inherit the
POITIERS 47
promised half -million of francs, and then not long encumber
his family.
' Put the hoy down now,' said Madame Vigneron to her
husband. ' You are tiring him, -holding him by the legs like
that.'
Then both she and Madame Chaise bestirred themselves
in order that the lad might not be shaken. The poor darling
was so much in need of care and attention. At each moment
they feared that they might lose him. Even his father was
of opinion that they had better put him in the train again at
once. And as the two women went off with the child, the old
gentleman once more turned towards Pierre, and with evident
emotion exclaimed : ' Ah 1 Monsieur I'Abb^, if God should
take him from us, the light of our life would be extinguished
— I don't speak of his aunt's fortune, which would go to other
' nephews. But it would be unnatural, would it not, that he
should go off before her, especially as she is so ill ? However,
we are all in the hands of Providence, and place our reliance
in the Blessed Virgin, who will assuredly perform a miracle.'
Just then Madame de Jonqui^re, having been reassured by
Doctor Ferrand, was able to leave La Grivotte. Before going
off, however, she took care to say to Pierre : ' I am dying of
hunger and am going to the refreshment-room for a mo-
ment. But if my patient should begin coughing again, pray
come and fetch me.'
When, after great difficulty, she had managed to cross the
platform and reach the refreshment-room, she found herself
in the midst of another scramble. The better circumstanced
pilgrims had taken the tables by assault, and a great many
•priests were to be seen hastily lunching amidst all the clatter
of knives, forks and crockery. The three or four waiters were
not able to attend to all requirements, especially as they were
hampered in their movements by the crowd purchasing fruit,
bread, and cold meat at the counter. It was at a little table at
the far end of the room that Eaymonde was lunching with
Madame D6sagneaux and Madame Yolmar.
' Ah ! here you are at last, mamma I ' the girl exclaimed,
as Madame de Jonquiere approached. ' I was just going back
to fetch you. You certainly ought to be allowed time to eat ! '
She was laughing, with a very animated expression on her
face, quite delighted as she was with the adventures of the
journey and this indifferent, scrambling meal. 'There,' said
she, ' I have kept you some trout with green sauce, and there's
48 LOURDES
a cutlet also waiting for you. We have already got to the
artichokes.'
Then everything became charming. The gaiety prevailing
in that little comer rejoiced the sight.
Young Madame D6sagneaux was particularly adorable. A
deUoate blonde, with wild, wavy, yellow hair, a round, dimpled',
milky face, a gay, laughing disposition, and a remarkably good
heart, she had made a rich marriage, and for three years past
had been wont to leave her husband at Trouville in the fine
August weather, in order to accompany the national pilgrim-
age as a lady-hospitaller. This was her great passion, an
access of quivering pity, a longing desire to place herself un-
reservedly at the disposal of the sick for five days, a real de-
bauch of devotion from which she returned tired to death but
full of intense delight. Her only regret was that she as yet
had no children, and with comical passion, she occasionally
expressed a regret that she had missed her true vocation, that
of a sister of charity.
' Ah ! my dear,' she hastily said to Eaymonde, ' don't pity
your mother for being so much taken up with her patients.
She, at all events, has something to occupy her.' And address-
ing herself to Madame de Jonquiere, she added : ' If you only
knew how long we find the time in our fine first-class carriage.
We cannot even occupy ourselves with a little needlework,
as it is forbidden. I asked for a place with the patients, but
all were already distributed, so that my only resource will be
to try to sleep to-night.'
She began to laugh, and then resumed : ' Yes, Madame
Volmar, we will try to sleep, won't we, since talking seems to
tire you ? ' Madame Volmar, who looked over thirty, was very
dark, with a long face and dehcate but drawn features. Her
magnificent eyes shone out Hke brasiers, though every now and
then a cloud seemed to veil and extinguish them. At the first
glance she did not appear beautiful, but as you gazed at her she
became more and more perturbing, till she conquered you and .
inspired you with passionate adrairation. It &hould be said
though that she shrank from all seK-assertion, comporting
herself with much modesty, ever keeping in the background,
striving to hide her lustre, invariably clad in black and un-
adorned by a single jewel, although she was the wife of a
Parisian diamond-merchant.
' Oh 1 for my part,' she murmured, ' as long as I ajn not
bustled too much I t^m well pleased.'
POITIERS 49
She had been to Lourdes as an auxiliary lady helper
already on two occasions, though but little had been seen of
her there — at the hospital of Our Lady of Dolours — as, on
arriving, she had been overcome by such great fatigue that she
had been forced, she said, to keep her room.
However, Madame de Jonquiere, who managed the ward,
treated her with good-natured tolerance. ' Ah ! my poor
friends,' said she, ' there will be plenty of time for you to exert
yourselves. Get to sleep if you can, and your turn will come
when I can no longer keep up.' Then addressing her daughter
she resumed : ' And you would do well, darling, not to excite
yourself too much if you wish to keep your head clear.'
Eaymonde smiled and gave her mother a reproachful
glance : ' Mamma, mamma, why do you say that ? Am I not
sensible ? ' she asked.
Doubtless she was not boasting, for, despite her youthful
thoughtless air, the air of one who simply feels happy in
living, there appeared in her grey eyes an expression of firm
resolution, a resolution to shape her life for herself.
' It is true,' the mother confessed with a little confusion,
' this httle girl is at times more sensible than I am myself.
Come, pass me the cutlet— it is welcome, I assure you. Lord I
how hungry I was ! '
The meal continued, enlivened by the constant laughter
of Madame Desagneaux and Eaymonde. The latter was very
animated, and her face, which was already growing somewhat
yellow through long pining for a suitor again assumed the
rosy bloom of twenty. They had to eat very fast, for only
ten minutes now remained to them. On all sides one heard
the growing tumult of customers who feared that they would
not have time to take their coffee.
All at once, however, Pierre made his appearance : a fit
of stifling had again come over La Grivotte ; and Madame de
Jonquiere hastily finished her artichoke and returned to her
compartment, after kissing her daughter, who wished her
' good night ' in a facetious way. The priest, however, had
made a movement of surprise on perceiving Madame Volmar
with the red cross of the lady-hospitallers on her black
bodice. He knew her, for he still called at long intervals on
old Madame Volmar, the diamond-merchant's mother, who
had been one of his own mother's friends. She was the
most terrible woman in the world, religious beyond aU reason,
BO harsh and stern, moreover, as to close the very window
50 LOVRDES
shutters in order to prevent her daughter-in-law from looking
into the street. And he knew the young woman's story, how
she had been imprisoned on the very morrow of her marriage,
shut up between her mother-in-law, who tyrannised over her,
and her husband, a repulsively ugly monster who went so far
as to beat her, mad as he was with jealousy, although he
himself kept mistresses. The unhappy woman was not
allowed out of the house excepting it were to go to mass.
And one day, at La Trmite, Pierre had surprised her secret,
on seeing her behind the church exchanging a few hasty
words with a well-groomed, distinguished-looking man.
The priest's sudden appearance in the refreshment-room
had somewhat disconcerted Madame Vohnar.
' What an unexpected meeting. Monsieur I'Abb^ I ' she
said, offering him her long, warm hand. ' What a long tima
it is since I last saw you 1 ' And thereupon she explained
that this was the third year she had gone to Lourdes, her
mother-in-law having required her to join the Association of
Our Lady of Salvation. ' It is surprising that you did not
see her at the station when wo started,' she added. ' She sees
me into the train and comes to meet me on my return.'
This was said in an apparently simple way, but with such
a subtle touch of irony that Pierre fancied he could guess the
truth. He knew that she reaUy had no religious principles
at aU, and that she merely followed the rites and ceremonies
of the Church in order that she might now and again obtain
an hour's freedom ; and aU at once he intuitively realised
that someone must be waiting for her yonder, that it wa"s-for
the purpose of meeting him that she was thus hastening
to Lourdes with her shrinking yet ardent air and flaming
eyes, which she so prudently shrouded with a veil of lifeless
indifference.
' For my part,' he answered, ' I am accompanying a friend
of my childhood, a poor girl who is very ill indeed. I must
ask your help for her ; you shall nm-se her.'
Thereupon she faintly blushed, and he no longer doubted
the truth of his surmise. However, Baymonde was just
then settUng the bill with the easy assurance of a girl who
is expert in figures ; and immediately afterwards Madame
Dfisagneaux led Madame Vohnar away. The waiters were
now growing more distracted^ and the tables were fast being
vacated ; for, on hearing a bell ring, everybody had begun to
rush towards the door.
{
Vi
POITIERS St
Pierre, on his side, was hasteuiug back to his carriage,
when he was stopped by an old priest. ' Ah ! Monsieur le
Cur6,' he said, ' I saw yon just before we started, but I was
unable to get near enough to shake hands with you.'
Thereupon he offered his hand to his brother ecclesiastic,
^^ho was looking and smiling at him in a kindly way. The
' AbbS Judaine was the parish priest of Saligny, a httle village
in the department of the Oise. Tall and sturdy, he had a
broad pink face, around which clustered a mass of white,
curly hair, and it could be divined by his appearance that he
was a worthy man whom neither the flesh nor the spirit had
ever tormented. He believed indeed firmly and absolutely,
with a tranquil godliness, never having known a struggle, en-
dowed as he was with the ready faith of a child unacquainted
with human passions. And ever since the Virgin at Lourdes
had cured him of a disease of the eyes, by a famous miracle
which folks still talked about, his belief had become yet more
absolute and tender, as though impregnated with divine
^atitude.
' ' I am pleased that you are with us, my friend,' he gently
said ; ' for there is much in these pilgrimages for young priests
to profit by. I am told that some of them at times experience
a feeling of rebellion. Well, you will see all these poor
people praying, — it is a sight which will make you weep.
How can one do otherwise than place oneself in God's hands,
on seeing so much sufiering cured or consoled ? '
The old priest himself was accompanying a patient ,; and
he pointed to a first-class compartment, at the door of which
hung a placard bearing the inscription : ' M. I'Abbe Judaine,
Eeserved.' Then lowering his voice, he said : ' It is Madame
Dieulafay, you know, the great banker's wife. Then* chateau,
a royal domain, is in my parish, and when they learned that
the Blessed Virgin had vouchsafed me such an undeserved
favour, they begged me to intercede for their poor sufferer.
I have already said several masses, and most smeerely pray
for her. There, you see her yonder on the ground. She
insisted on being taken out of the carriage, in spite of all the
trouble which one will have to place her in it again.'
On a shady part of the platform, in a kind of long box,
there was, as the old priest said, a woman whose beautiful,
perfectly oval face, lighted up by splendid eyes, denoted no
greater age than six-and-twenty. She was suilering from a
frightful disease. The disappearance from her system of the
e2
S-i LOURDES
calcareous salts had led to a softening of the osseous frame-
work, the slow destruction of her bones. Three years pre-,
viously, after the advent of a stillborn child, she had felt
vague pains in the spinal column. And then, little by little,
her bones had rarefied and lost shape, the verfcebrse had sunk,
the bones of the pelvis had flattened, and those of the arms
and legs had contracted. Thus shrunken, melting away as
it were, she had become a mere human remnant, a nameless
fluid thing, which could not be set erect, but had to be carried
hither and thither with infinite care, for fear lest she should
vanish between one's fingers. Her face, a motionless face,
on which sat a stupefied imbecile expression, still retained its
beauty of outline, and yet it was impossible to gaze at this
wretched shred of a woman without feeling a heart-pang,
the keener on account of all the luxury surrounding her ; for
not only was the box in which she lay lined with blue quilted
silk, but she was covered with valuable lace, and a cap of rare
Valenciennes was set upon her head, her wealth thus being
proclaimed, displayed, in the midst of her awful agony.
' Ah ! how pitiable it is,' resumed the Abb6 Judaine in
an undertone. 'To think that she is so yoimg, so pretty,
possessed of millions of money ! And if you knew how dearly
loved she was, with what adoration she is still surrounded.
That tall gentleman near her is her husband, that elegantly
dressed lady is her sister, Madame Jousseur.'
Pierre remembered having often noticed in the newspapers
the name of Madame Jousseur, wife of a diplomatist, and a
conspicuous member of the higher spheres of Catholic society
in Paris. People had even circulated a story of some great
passion which she had fought against and vanquished. She
also was very prettily dressed, with marvellously tasteful sim-
plicity, and she ministered to the wants of her sorry sister
with an air of perfect devotion. As for the unhappy woman's
husband, who at the age of five-and-thirty had inherited his
father's colossal business, he was a clear-complexioned, well-
groomed, handsome man, clad in a closely buttoned frock-
coat. His eyes, however, were full of tears, for he adored
his wife, and had left his business in order to take her to
Lourdes, placing his last hope in this appeal to the mercy of
Heaven.
Ever since the morning, Pierre had beheld many frightful
sufferings in that woeful white train. But none had so dis-
tressed his soul as did that wretched female skeleton, slowly
POITIERS 53
liquefying in the midst of its lace and its millions. ' The
unhappy woman ! ' he murmured with a shudder.
The Abb6 Judaine however made a gesture of serene hope.
' The Blessed Virgin \rill cure her,' said he ; ' I have prayed
to her so much.'
Just then a bell again pealed, and this time it was really
the signal for starting. Only two minutes remained. There
was a last rush, and folks hurried back towards the train
carrying eatables wrapped in paper, and bottles and cans
"prhich they had filled with water. Several of them quite lost
their heads, and in their inability to find their carriages, ran
distractedly from one to the other end of the train ; whilst
some of the infirm ones dragged themselves about amidst the
precipitate tapping of crutches, and others, only able to walk
with difficulty, strove to hasten their steps whilst leaning on
the arms of some of the lady-hospitaUers. It was only with
infinite difficulty that four men managed to replace Madame
Dieulafay in her first-class compartment. The Vignerons,
who were content with second-class accommodation, had
already reinstalled themselves in their quarters amidst an
extraordinary heap of baskets, boxes, and valises which scarcely
allowed little Gustavo enough room to stretch his poor puny
limbs — the limbs as it were of a deformed insect. And then
all the women appeared again : Madame Maze gliding along
in silence ; Madame Vincent raising her dear little girl in her
outstretched arms and dreading lest she should hear her cry
out ; Madame Vetu, whom it had been necessary to push into
the train, after rousing her from her stupefying torment ; and
EUse Eouquet, who was quite drenched through her obstinacy
in endeavouring to drink from the tap, and was still wiping
her monstrous face. Whilst each returned to her place and
the carriage fiUed once more, Marie Hstened to her father, who
had come back delighted with his stroU to a pointsman's
little house beyond the station, whence a really pleasant
stretch of landscape could be discerned.
' Shall we lay you down again at once ? ' asked Pierre,
sorely distressed by the pained expression on Marie's face.
' Oh no, no, by-and-by 1.' she replied. ' I shall have
plenty of time to hear those wheels roaring in my head as
though they were grinding my bones.'
Then as Ferrand seemed on the point of returning to the
cantine van. Sister Hyaciuthe begged him to take another look
at the strange man before he went off, ghe was still waiting
5 } LOURDES
for Father Massiaa, astonished at the inexplicable delay in his
arrival, but not yet without hope, as Sister Claire des Angea
had not returned.
' Pray, Monsieur Ferrand,' said she, ' teU me if this un-
fortunate man is in any immediate danger.'
The young doctor again loolied at the sufferer, felt him, and
listened to his breathing. Then with a gesture of discourage-
ment he answered in a low voice, 'I feel convinced that
you will not get him to Lourdes alive.
Every head was still anxiously stretched forward. K they
had only known the man's name, the place he had come from,
who he was 1 But it was impossible to extract a word from
this unhappy stranger, who was about to die^ there, in that
carriage, without anybody being able to give his face a
name !
It suddenly occurred to Sister Hyaeinthe to have him
searched. Under the circumstances there could certainly be
no harm in such a course. ' Feel in his pockets, Monsieur
Ferrand,' she said.
The doctor thereupon searched the man in a gentle,
cautious way, but the only things that he found in his pockets
were a chaplet, a knife, and three sous. And nothing more
was ever learnt of the man.
At that moment, however, a voice announced that Sister
Claire des Anges was at last coming back with Father Massias.
All this while the latter had simply been chatting with the
priest of Sainte-Eadegonde in one of the waiting-rooms.
Keen emotion attended his arrival ; for a moment all seemed
saved. But the train was about to start, the porters were
already closing the carriage doors, and it was necessary that
extreme-unction should be administered in aU haste in order
to avoid too long a delay.
' This way, man r6v6rend pire ! * exclaimed Sister Hya-
einthe ; ' yes, yes, pray come in, our unfortunate patient is
here.'
Father Massias, who was five years older than Pierre,
whose fellow-student however he had been at the seminary,
had a tall spare figure with an ascetic countenance, framed
round with a light-coloured beard and vividly lighted up by
burning eyes. He was neither the priest harassed by doubt,
nor the priest with child-like faith, but an apostle carried
away by his passion, ever ready to fight and vanquish for the
pure glory of the Blessed Virgin. In his black cloak with its
POITIERS 55
large hood, and his broad brimmed flossy hat, he shone
resplendently with the perpetual ardour of battle.
He immediately toX)k from his pocket the silver case
containing the Holy Oils, -and the ceremony began whilst the
last carriage doors were being slammed and belated pilgrims
were rushing back to the train ; the station-master, meantime,
anxiously glancing at the clock and realising that it would
be necessary for him to grant a few minutes' grace.
' Credo in unum Deitm,' hastily murmured the Father,
' Arrten,' replied Sister Hyaciathe and the other occupants
of the carriage.
Those who had been able to do so had knelt upon the
seats, whilst the others joined their hands, or repeatedly made
the sign of the cross ; and when the murmured prayers were
followed by the Litanies of the ritual, every voice rose, an
ardent desire for the remission of the man's sins and for his
physical and spiritual cure winging its flight heavenward with
each successive Kyfie eleison. Might his whole life, of which
they knew nought, be forgiven him ; might he enter, stranger
though he was, in triumph into the Kingdom of God 1
' Ckriste, exaudi nos.'
' Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei Genitrix.'
Father Massias had puUed out the silver needle from
which hung a drop of holy oil. In the midst of such a
scramble, with the whole train waiting — many people now
thrusting their heads out of the carriage windows in surprise
at the delay in starting — ^he could not think of following the
usual practice, of anointing in turn all the organs of the
senses, those portals of the soul which give admittance to
evil. He must content himself, as the rules authorised him
to do in pressing cases, with one anointment ; and this he
made upon the man's lips, those livid parted lips from between
which only a faint breath escaped, whUst the rest of his face,
with its lowered eyelids, already seemed indistinct, again
merged into the dust of the earth.
' Per istam sanctam unctionem,' said the Father, ' et mam
jdissimam misericordiam, indulgent tibi Dominus quidquid
per viswm, auditum, odoratum, gustum, tactum, deUquisti.' *
The remainder of the ceremony was lost amid the hurry
• Through this holy unction and His most tender mercy may the
Iiord pardon thee -whatever sins thou bast committed by thy sight.
bearing, &e. &e.
S6 LOURDES
and scramble of the departure. Father Massias scarcely had
time to wipe off the oil with the little piece of cotton wool
which Sister Hyacinthe held in readiness, before he had to
leave the compartment and get into his own as fast as
possible, setting the case containing the Holy Oils in order
as he did so, whilst the pilgrims finished repeating the final
prayer.
' We cannot wait any longer ! It is impossible I ' repeated
the station-master as he bustled about. ' Come, come, make
haste everybody 1 '
At last then they were about to resume their journey.
Everybody sat down, returned to his or her corner again.
Madame de Jonquiere, however, had changed her place, in
order to be nearer La Grivotte, whose condition stUl worried
her, and she was now seated in front of M. Sabathier, who
remained waiting with silent resignation. Moreover, Sister
Hyacinthe had not returned to her compartment, having
decided to remain near the unknown man so that she might
watch over him and help him. By following this course, too,
she was able to minister to Brother Isidore, whose sufferings
his sister Marthe was at a loss to assuage. And Marie,
turning pale, felt the jolting of the train in her ailing flesh,
even before it had resumed its journey under the heavy sun,
roUing onward once more with its load of sufferers stifling in
the pestilential atmosphere of the over-heated carriages.
At last a loud whistle resounded; the engine puffed, and
Sister Hyacinthe rose up to say: 'The Magnificat, my
children I '
IV
MIEACLES
Just as the train was beginning to move, the door of the
compartment in which Pierre and Marie found themselves
was opened and a porter pushed a girl of fourteen inside, say-
ing : ' There's a seat here — make haste ! '
The others were already pulling long faces and were
about to protest, when Sister Hyacinthe exclaimed : ' What, is
it you, Sophie ? So you are going back to see the Blessed
Virgin who cured you last year 1 '
MIRACLES 57
And at the same time Madame, de Jonqui^re remarked : —
'Ah! Sophie, my little friend, lam very pleased to see that
you are grateful.'
•Why, yes, Sister I why, yes, madame,' answered the girl, in
a pretty way. r
The carriage door had already been closed again, so that
it was necessary that they should accept the presence of this
new pUgrim who had fallen from heaven as it were at the very
moment when the train, which she had almost missed, was
starting off again. She was a slender damsel and would not
take up much room. Moreover these ladies knew her, and all
the patients had turned their eyes upon her on hearing that
the Blessed Virgin had been pleased to cure her. They had
now got beyond the station, the engine was still puffing, whilst
the wheels increased their speed, and Sister Hyacinthe, clap-
ping her hands, repeated: 'Come, come, my children, the
Magnificat,'
Whilst the joyful chant arose amidst the jolting of the
train, Pierre gazed at Sophie. She was evidently a young
peasant girl, the daughter of some poor husbandman of the
vicinity of Poitiers, petted by her parents, treated in fact like
a young lady since she had become the object of a miracle,
one of the elect, whom the priests of the district flocked to see.
She wore a straw hat with pink ribbons, and a grey woollen
dress trimmed with a flounce. Her round face although not
pretty was a very pleasant one, with a beautifully fresh com-
plexion and clear, intelUgent eyes which lent her a smiUng
modest air.
When the Magnificat had been sung Pierre was unable to
resist his desire to question Sophie. A child of her age, with
so candid an air, so utterly unlike a- liar, greatly interested
him.
' And so you nearly missed the train, my child ? ' he said.
' I should have been much ashamed if I had. Monsieur
I'Abb^,' she replied. ' I had been at the station since twelve
o'clock. And all at once I saw his reverence the priest of
Sainte-Eadegonde, who knows me well and who called me to
him, to kiss me and teU me that it was very good of me to go
back to Lourdes. But it seems the train was starting and I
only just had time to run on to the platform. Oh 1 1 ran so
fast 1 '
She paused, laughing, still slightly out of breath, but
already repenting that she had been so giddy.
JS LOURDES
' And what is your name, my child ? ' asked Pierre.
' Sophie Couteau, Monsieur I'Abbe.'
' You do not belong to the town of Poitiers ? '
' Oh no 1 certainly not. We belong to Vivonne, which is
seven kilometres away. My father and mother have a little
land there, and things would not be so bad if there were not
eight children at home — I am the fifth — fortunately the four
elder ones are beginning to work.'
* And you, my child, what do you do ? '
' I, Monsieur I'Abb^ ! Oh ! I am no great help. Since last
year, when I came home cured, I have not been left quiet a
single day, for, as you can understand, so many people have
come to see me, and then too I have been taken to Mon-
seigneur's,* and to the convents and all manner of other
places. And before all that I was a long time ill. I could
not walk without a stick, and each step I took made me cry
out, so dreadfully did my foot hurt me.'
' So it was of some injury to the foot that the Blessed
Virgin cured you ? '
Sophie did not have time to reply, for Sister Hyacinthe,
who was listening, intervened : ' Of caries of the bones of the
left heel, which had been going on for three years,' said she.
' The foot was swollen and quite deformed, and there were
fistulas giving egress to continual suppuration.'
On hearing this, all the sufferers in the carriage became
intensely interested. They no longer took their eyes off this
little girl on whom a miracle had been performed, but scanned
her from head to foot as though seeking for some sign of tho
prodigy. Those who were able to stand rose up in order that
they might the better see her, and the others, the infirm
ones, stretched on their mattresses, strove to raise themselves
and turn their heads. Amidst the suffering which had aigain
come upon them on leaving Poitiers, the terror which filled
them at the thought that they must continue rolling onward
for another fifteen hours, the sudden advent of this child,
favoured by Heaven, was like a divine reUef, a ray of hope
whence they would derive sufficient strength to accomplish
the remainder of their terrible journey. The moaning had
abated somewhat already, and every face was turned towards
the girl with an ardent desire to believe.
This was especially the case with Marie, who, already
reviving, joined her trembling hands, and in a gentle suppli<
* The Bishop's residence.
MIRACLES 59
eating voice said to Pierre : ' Question her, pray question her,
ask her to tell us everything— cured, 0 God I cured of such a
terrible complaint ! '
Madame de Jonquiere, who was quite affected, had leant
over the partition to kiss the girl. ' Certainly,' said she, ' our
little friend will tell you all about it. Won't you, my darUng ?
You will tell us what the Blessed Vhgin did for you ? '
' Oh, certainly I madame — as much as you hke,' answered
Sophie with her smiling, modest air, her eyes gleamiug with
intelligence. Indeed, she wished to begin at once, and raised
her right hand with a pretty gesture, as a sign to everybody
to be attentive. Plainly enough, she had already acquired the
habit of speaking in public.
She could not be seen, however, from some parts of the
carriage, and an idea came to Sister Hyacinthe, who said :
' Get up on the seat, Sophie, and speak loudly, on account of
the noise which the train makes."
This amused the girl, and before beginning she needed
time to become serious again. ' Well, it was like this,' said
she ; ' my foot was past cure, I couldn't even go to church any
more, and it had to be kept bandaged, because there was
always a lot of nasty matter coming from it. Monsieur
Eivoire, the doctor, who had made a cut in it, so as to see
inside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of
the bone ; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame
for life. But when I had got to Lourdes and had prayed a
great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I went to dip my foot in the
water, wishing so much that I might be cured that I did not
even take the time to puU the bandage off. And everything
remained in the water, there was no longer anything the
matter with my foot when I took it out.'
A murmur of mingled surprise, wonder, and desire arose
and spread among those who heard this marvellous tale, so
sweet and soothing to all who were in despair. But the little
one had not yet finished. She had simply paused. And
now, making a fresh gesture, holding her arms somewhat
apart, she concluded: 'When I got back to Vivonne and
Monsieur Eivoire saw my foot again, he said : " Whether it
be God or the Devil who has cured this child, it is all the
same to me ; but in all truth she is cured." '
This time a burst of laughter rang out. The girl spoke
in too recitative a way, having repeated her story so many
times already that she knew it by heart. The doctor's
6o LOURDES
remark was sure to produce an effect, and slie herself laughed
at it in advance, certain as she was that the others would
laugh also. However, she still retained her candid, touching
air.
But she had evidently forgotten some particular, for
Sister Hyacinthe, a glance from whom had foreshadowed the
doctor's jest, now softly prompted her : ' And what was it you
said to Madame la Comtesse, the superintendent of your ward,
Sophie?"
' Ah ! yes. I hadn't brought many bandages for my foot
with me, and I said to her, "It was very kind of the Blessed
Virgin to cure me the first day, as I should have run out of
linen on the morrow." '
This provoked a fresh outburst of delight. They all
thought her so nice, to have been cured like that ! And in
reply to a question from Madame de Jonquifire, she also had
to tell the story of her boots, a pair of beautiful new boots
which Madame la Comtesse had given her, and in which she
had run, jumped, and danced about, full of childish deUght.
Boots ! think of it, she who for three years had not even been
able to wear a slipper.
Pierre, who had become grave, waxing pale with the secret
uneasiness which was penetrating him, continued to look at
her. And he also asked her other questions. She was cer-
tainly not lying, and he merely suspected a slow distortion
of the actual truth, an easily explained embeUishment of the
real facts amidst all the joy she felt at being cured and
becoming an important httle personage. Who now knew if
the cicatrisation of her injuries, effected, so it was asserted,
completely, instantaneously, in a few seconds, had not in
reality been the work of days ? Where were the witnesses ?
Just then Madame de JonquiSre began to relate that she
had been at the hospital at the time referred to. ' Sophie was
not in my ward,' said she, ' but I had met her walking lame
that very morning '
Pierre hastily interrupted the lady-hospitaller. ' Ah 1 you
saw her foot before and after the immersion ? '
' No, no ! I don't think that anybody was able to see it,
for it was bound round with bandages. She told you that
the bandages had fallen into the piscina.' And, turning
towards the child, Madame de Jonquike added, 'But she
will show you her foot — won't you, Sophie? Undo your
flboe.'
MIRACLES 61
The girl took off her shoe, -and pulled down her stocking,
with a promptness and ease of manner which showed how
thoroughly accustomed she had become to it all. And she
not only stretched out her foot, which was very clean and
very white, carefully tended indeed, with weU-out, pink nails,
but complacently turned it so that the young priest- might
examine it at his ease. Just below the ankle there was a
long sear, whose whity seam, plainly deiined, testified to.
the gravity of the complaint from which the girl had
suffered.
' Oh ! take hold of the heel. Monsieur I'Abb^,' said she.
' Press it as hard as you hke. I no longer feel any pain at all.'
Pierre made a gesture from which it might have been
thought that he was delighted with the power exercised by the
Blessed Virgin. But he was still tortured by doubt. What
unknown force had acted in this case? Or rather what
faulty medical diagnosis, what assemblage of errors and exagge-
rations, had ended in this fine tale ?
All the patients, however, wished to see the miraculous
foot, that outward and visible sign of the divine cure which
each of them was going in search of. And it was Marie,
sitting up in her box, and already feeling less pain, who
touched it first. Then Madame Maze, quite roused from her
melancholy, passed it on to Madame Vincent, who would have
kissed it for the hope which it restored to her. M. Sabathier
had listened to all the explanations with a beatific air ;
Madame Vetu, La Grivotte, and even Brother Isidore opened
their eyes, and evinced signs of interest ; whilst the face of Elise
Eouquet had assumed an extraordinary expression, trans-
figured by faith, almost beatified. If a sore had thus
disappeared, might not her own sore close and disappear, her
face retaining no trace of it save a slight scar, and-ag^u
becoming such a face as other people had ? Sophie, who^^s
stUl standing, had to hold on to one of the iron rails, and
place her foot on the partition, now on the right, now on the
left. And she did not weary of it all, but felt exceedingly
happy and proud at the many exclamations which were raised,
the quivering admiration and religious respect which were
bestowed on that little piece of her person, that little foot
which had now, so to say, become sacred.
'One must possess great faith, no doubt,' said Marie,
thinking aloud. ' One must have a pure unspotted soul.'
And, addressing herself to M. de Guersaint, she added;-
fe LOURDES
' Father, I feel that I should get well if I were ten years old,
if I had the unspotted soul of a little girl.'
* But you are ten years old, my darling ! Is it not so,
Pierre ? A little girl of ten years old could not have a more
spotless soul.'
Possessed of a mind prone to chimeras, M. de Guersaint
was fond of hearing tales of miracles. As for the young
priest, profoundly ^eoted by the ardent purity which the
young girl evinced, he no longer sought to discuss the
question, but let her surrender herself to the eonsoUng
illusions which Sophie's tale had wafted through the
carriage.
The temperature had become yet more oppressive since
their departure from Poitiers, a storm was rising in the
coppery sky, and it seemed as though the train were rushing
through a furnace. The villages passed, mournful and
solitary under the burning sun. At Couh6-Verao they had
again said their chaplets, and sung another canticle. At
present, however, there was some slight abatement of the
religious exercises. Sister Hyaciathe, who had not yet been
able to lunch, ventured to eat a roll and some fruit in all
haste, whilst still ministering to the strange man whose faint,
painful breathing seemed to have become more regular. And
it was only on passing Euffee at three o'clock that they said
the vespers of the Blessed Virgin.
' Ora pro nobis, saneta Dei Genitrix.'
' Ut digni efficiamur proviissionihus Christi. '*
As they were finishing, M. Sabathier, who had watched
little Sophie while she put on her shoe and stocking, turned
towards M. de Guersaint.
' This child's case is interesting no doubt,' he remarked.
' But it is a mere nothing, monsieur, for there have been far
more marvellous cures than that. Do you know the story of
Pierre de Eudder, a Belgian working-man ? '
Everybody had again begun to listen.
' This man,' continued M. Sabathier, ' had his leg broken
by the fall of a tree. Eight years afterwards the two frag-
ments of the bone had not yet joined together again — the two
ends could be seen in the depths of a sore which was con-
tinually suppurating; and the leg hung down quite limp,
swaying in all directions. Well, it was sufficient for this man
• ' Pray for ns, 0 holy Mother of God,' ' That we may be mad?
worthy of the promises of Christ.'
MIRACLES 63
fco drink a glassful of the miraculous water, and his leg was
made whole again. He was able to walk without crutches,
and the doctor said to him : " Your leg is like that of a new-
born chUd." Yes, indeed, a perfectly new leg 1 '
Nobody spoke, but the listeners exchanged glances of
ecstasy.
' ^d by the way,' resumed M. Sabathier, ' it is like the
story of Louis Bouriette, a quarryman, one of the first of the
Lourdcs miracles. Do you know it ? Bouriette had been
injured by an explosion during some blasting operations.
The sight of his right eye was altogether destroyed, and ho
was even threatened with the loss of the left one. Well, one
day he sent his daughter to fetch a bottleful of the muddy
water of the source, which then scarcely bubbled up to the
surface. He washed his eye with this muddy liquid, and
prayed fervently. And, all at once, he raised a cry, for he
could see, monsieur, see as well as you and I. The doctor
who was attending him drew up a detailed narrative of the
case, and there cannot be the slightest doubt about its
truth.'
'It is marvellous,' murmured M. de Guersaint in hia
delight.
' Would you like another example, monsieur ? I can give
you a famous one, that of Fran9oi3 Macary, the carpenter of
Lavaur. During eighteen years he had suffered from a deep
varicose ulcer, with considerable enlargement of the tissues in
the mesial part of the left leg. He had reached such a point
that he could no longer move, and science decreed that he would
for ever remain infirm. Well, one evening, he shuts himself
up with a bottle of Lourdes water. He takes off his bandages,
washes both his legs, and drinks what little water then
remains in the bottle. Then he goes to bed and falls asleep ;
and when he awakes, he feels his legs and looks at them.
There is nothing left ; the varicose enlargement, the ulcers,
have .ail disappeared. The skin of his knee, monsieur, had
become as smooth, as fresh as it had been when he was twenty.'
This time there was an explosion of surprise and admira-
tion. The patients and the pilgrims were entering into the
enchanted land of miracles, where impossibihties are accom-
plished at each bend of the pathways, where one marches on
at ease from prodigy to prodigy. And each had his or her
story to tell, burning with a desire to contribute a fresh proof,
to fortify fsjitb and hope by yet another example.
64 tOURDES
That silent creature, Madame Maze, waa so transported
that she spoke the first. ' I have a friend,' said she, ' who
knew the widow Bizan, that lady whose cure also created so
great a stir. For four-and- twenty years her left side had been
entirely paralysed. Her stomach was unable to retain any
solid food, and she had become an inert bag of bones which
had to be turned over in bed. The friction of the sheets, too,
had ended by rubbing her skin away in parts. Well, she was
so low one evening that the doctor announced that she would
die during the night. An hour later, however, she emerged
from her torpor and asked her daughter in a faint voice
to go and fetch her a glass of Lourdes water at a neighbour's.
But she was only able to obtain this glass of water on the
following morning ; and she cried out to her daughter : "Oh!
it is life that I am drinking — rub my face with it, rub my
arm and my leg, rub my whole body with it ! " And when
her daughter obeyed her, she gradually saw the huge swelling
subside, and the paralysed, tumefied limbs recover their
natural suppleness and appearance. Nor was that all, for
Madame Eizan cried out that she was cured and felt hungry,
and wanted bread and meat — she who had eaten none for
four-and-twenty years !' And she got out of bed and dressed
herself, whilst her daughter, who was so overpowered that
the neighbours thought she had become an orphan; replied
to them : " No, no, mamma isn't dead, she has come to life
again ! " '
This narrative had brought tears to Madame Vincent's
eyes. Ah ! if she had only been able to see her little Eose
recover like that, eat with a good appetite and run about
again 1 At the same time, another case, which she had been
told of in Paris and which had greatly influenced her in
deciding to take her ailing child to Lourdes, returned to her
memory.
' And I too,' said she, ' know the story of a girl who was
paralysed. Her name was Lucie Druon, and she was an
inmate of an orphan asylum. She was quite young and could
not even kneel down. Her limbs were bent like hoops. Her
right leg, the shorter of the two, had ended by becoming
twisted round the left one ; and when any of the other girls
carried her about you saw her feet hanging down quite limp,
like dead ones. Please notice that she did not even go to
Lourdes. She simply performed a novena ; but she fasted
during the nine days, and her desire to be cured was so great
MtRACLMS 65
that she spent her nights in prayer. At last, on the ninth
day, whilst she was drinking a little Lourdes water, she felt
a violent commotion in her legs. She picked herself up, fell
down, picked herself up again aioA walked. All her little com-
panions, who were astonished, almost frightened at the sight,
began to cry out : " Lucie can walk ! Lucie can walk 1 " It
was quite true. In a few seconds her legs had become straight
and strong and healthy. She crossed the courtyard and was
able to climb up the steps of the chapel, where the whole
sisterhood, transported with gratitude, chanted the Magnificat.
Ah ! the dear child, how happy, how happy she must have been ! '
As Madame Vincent finished two tears fell from her
cheeks on to the pale face of her Uttle girl, whom she kissed
distractedly.
The general interest was still increasing, becoming quite
impassioned. The rapturous joy born of these beautiful
stories, in which Heaven invariably triumphed over human
reality, transported these child-like souls to such a point
that those who were suffering the most grievously sat up in
their turn, and recovered the power of speech. And with
the narratives of one and aU was blended a thought of the
sufferer's own particular ailment, a belief that he or she
would also be cured, since a malady of the same description
had vanished like an evil dream beneath the breath of the
Divinity.
' Ah I ' stammered Madame Vetu, her articulation hin-
dered by her sufferings, ' there was another one, Antoinette
Thardivail, whose stomach was being eaten away like mine.
You would have said that dogs were devouring it, and some-
times there was a swelling in it as big as a child's head.
Tumours indeed were ever forming in it, like fowl's eggs, so
that for eight months she brought up blood. And she also
was at the point of death, with nothing but her skin left on
her bones, and dying of hunger, when she drank some water
of Lourdes and had the pit of her stomach washed vrith it.
Three minutes afterwards, her doctor, who on the previous
day had left her almost in the last throes, scarce breathing,
found her up and sitting by the fireside, eating a tender
chicken's wing with a good appetite. She had no more
tumours, she laughed as she had laughed when she was
twenty, and her face had regained the briUianey of youth.
Ah ! to be able to eat what one likes, to become young again,
to cease suffering 1 '
p
66 LOURDES
■ ' And the cure of Sister Julienne I ' then exclaimed La
Giivotte, .raising herself on one of her elbows, her eyes
glittering with fever. ' In her ease it commenced with a bad
cold as it did with me, and then she began to spit blood.
And every six months she fell Ul again and had to take to her
ibed. The last time everybody said that she wouldn't leave it
,* aUve. The doctors had vainly tried every remedy, iodine,.
■ bUstering, and cauterising. In fact, hers was a real case of
phthisis, certified by half-a-idozen medical men. Well, she
comes to Lonrdes, and Heaven alone knows amidst what
awful suffering — she was so bad, indeed, -that at Toulouse
they, thought for. a moment that she was about to die ! The
Sisters had to carry her in their arms, and on reaching the
piscina the lady-hospitallers wouldn't bathe her. She was
dead, they said. No matter ! she was undressed at last, and
plunged into the water, quite unconscious and covered with
.perspiration. And when they took her out she was so pale
.that they laid her on the ground, thinking that it was
certainly all over with her at last. But, all at once, colour
came back to her cheeks, her eyes opened, and she drew a
long breath. She was cured; she dressed herseK without
any help and made a good meal after she had been to the
Grotto to thank the Blessed Virgin. There! there's no
gainsaying it, that was a real case of phthisis, completely cured
as though by medicine ! '
Thereupon Brother Isidore in his turn wished to speak ;
but he was unable to do so at any length, and could only
with difficulty manage to say to his sister: 'Marthe, tell
them the story of Sister Dorothee which the priest of Saint-
Bauveur related to us.'
' Sister Dorothde,' began the peasant girl in an awkward
way, ' felt her leg quite numbed when she got up one morn-
ing, and from that time she lost the use of it, for it got as
cold and as heavy as a stone. Besides which she felt a great
pain in the back. The doctors couldn't understand it. She
saw half-a-dozen of them who pricked her with pins and
burnt her skin with a lot of drugs. But it was just as if they
had sung to her. Sister Dorothee had well understood that
only the Blessed Virgin could find the right remedy for her,
and so she went off to Lourdes, and had herself dipped in the
Eiscina. She thought at first that the water was going to kill
er, for it was so bitterly cold. But by-and-by it became so
eoft that she fancied it was warm, as nice as milk. She had
MIRACLES 67
never felt so mce before, it seemed to her as if her veins were
qpening and the water were flowing into them. As you will
understand, life was returning into her body since the
Blessed Virgin was concerning herself in the case. She no
longer had anything the matter with her when she came
out, but walked about, ate the whole of a pigeon for her
dinner, and slept all night long hke the happy woman she
was. Glory to the Blessed Virgin, eternal gratitude to the
most Powerful Mother and her Divine Son ! '
Elise Bouquet would also have liked to bring forward a
miracle which she was acquainted with. Only she spoke
with so much difficulty owing to the deformity of her mouth,
that she had not yet been able to secure a turn. Just then,
however, there was a pause, and drawing the wrap, which
concealed the horror of her sore, slightly on one side, she
profited by the opportunity to begin.
' For my part, I wasn't told anything about a great illness,
but it was a very funny case at aU. events,' she said. * It was
about a woman, C61estine Dubois, as she was called, who had
run a needle right into her hand whUe she was washing. It
stopped there for seven years, -for no doctor was able to take
it out. Her hand shrivelled up, and she could no longer open
it. Well, she got to Lourdes, and dipped her hand in the
piscina. But as soon as she did so she began to shriek, and
took it out again. Then they caught hold of her and put her
hand into the water by force, and kept it there while she
continued sobbing, with her face covered with sweat. Three
times did they plunge her hand into the piscina, and each
time they saw the needle moving along, tUL it came out by
the tip of the thumb. She shrieked, of course, because the
needle was moving through her flesh just as though some-
body had been pushing it to drive it out. And after that
Celestine never suffered again, and only a Httle scar could be
seen on her hand as a mark of what the Blessed Virgin had
done.'
This anecdote produced a greater effect than even the
miraculous cures of the most fearful illnesses. A needle
which moved as though somebody were pushing it ! This
peopled the Invisible, showed each sufferer his Guardian
Angel standing behind him, only awaiting the orders of
Heaven in order to render him assistance. And besides, how
pretty and childlike the story was — this needle which came
©ut in the miraculous water after obstinately refusing to stic
68 LOURDES
during seven long years. Exclamations of delight resounded
from all the pleased listeners ; they smiled and laughed with
satisfaction, radiant at finding that nothing was beyond the
power of Heaven, and that if it were Heaven's pleasure they
themselves would aU become healthy, young, and superb. It
was sufficient that one should fervently believe and pray in
order that Nature might be confounded and that the
Incredible might come to pass. Apart from that, there was
merely a question of good luck, since Heaven seemed to make
a selection of those sufferers who should be cured.
' Oh ! how beautiful it is, father,' murmured Marie, who,
revived by the passionate interest which she took in the
momentous subject, had so far contented herseK with listen-
ing, dumb with amazement as it were. ' Do you remember,'
she continued, 'what you yourself told me of that poor
woman, Joaohine Dehaut, who came from Belgium and made
her way right across France with her twisted leg eaten away
by an ulcer, the awful smell of which drove everybody away
from her ? First of all the ulcer was healed ; you could press
her knee and she felt nothing, only a sUght redness remained
to mark where it had been. And then came the turn of the
dislocation. She shrieked while she was in the water, it
seemed to her as if somebody were breaking her bones,
pulling her leg away from her ; and, at the same time, she
and the woman who was bathing her, saw her deformed
foot rise and extend into its natural shape with the regular
movement of a clock hand. Her leg also straightened itself,
the muscles extended, the knee replaced itself in its proper
position, all amidst such acute pain that Joachine ended by
fainting. But as soon as she recovered consciousness, she
darted off, erect and agUe, to carry her crutches to the
Grotto.'
M. de Guersaint in his turn was laughing with wonder-
ment, waving his hand to confirm this story, which had been
told him by a Father of the Assumption. He could have
xelated a score of similar instances, said he, each more touch-
ing, more extraordinary than the other. He even invoked
Pierre's testimony, and the young priest, who was vmable to
believe, contented himself with nodding his head. At first,
unwilling as he was to afflict Marie, he had striven to divert
his thoughts by gazing through the carriage window at the
fields, trees, and houses which defiled before his eyes. They
had just passed Augoullme, and meado-trs stretched out, and
MIRACLBS 4g
lines of poplar trees fled away amidst the oontinuotiB fanning
of the air, which the velocity of the train occasioned;
They were late, no doubt, for they were hastening onward
at full speed, thundering along under the stormy sky, through
the fiery atmosphere, devouring kilometre after kilometre in
swift succession. However, despite himself, Pierre heard
snatches of the various narratives, and grew interested in
these extravagant stories, which the rough jolting of the
wheels accompanied like a lullaby, as though the engine had
been turned loose and were wildly bearing them away to the
divine land of dreams. They were rolling, still roUing along,
and Pierre at last ceased to gaze at the landscape, and sur-
rendered himself to the heavy, sleep-inviting atmosphere of
the carriage, where ecstasy was growing and spreading, carry-
ing everyone far from that world of reality across which they
were so rapidly rushing. The sight of Marie's face with its
brightened look filled the young priest with sincere joy, and
he let her retain his hand, which she had taken in order to
acquaint him, by the pressure of her fingers, with all the con-
fidence which was reviving in her soul. And why should he
have saddened her by his doubts, since he was so desirous of
her cure ? So he continued clasping her small, moist hand,
feeling infinite affection for her, a dolorous brotherly love
which distracted him, and made him anxious to believe in the
pity of the spheres, in a superior kindness which tempered
suffering to those who were plunged in despair.
' Oh ! ' she repeated, ' how beautiful it is Pierre ! How
beautiful it is ! And what glory it will be if the -Blessed
Virgin deigns to disturb herself for me ! Do you really think
me worthy of such a favour ? '
' Assuredly I do,' he exclaimed ; ' you are the best and the
purest, with a spotless soul as your father said ; there are not
enough good angels in Paradise to form your escort.'
But the narratives were not yet finished. Sister Hyacinthe
and Madame de JonquiSre were now enumerating all the
miracles with which they were acquainted, the long, long
series of miracles which for more than thirty years had been
flowering at Lourdes, like the uninterrupted budding of the
roses on the Mystical Eose-tree. They could be counted by
thousands, they put forth fresh shoots every year with pro-
digious verdancy of sap, becoming brighter and brighter each
successive season. And the sufferers who listened to these
marvellous stories with increasing feverishness were like little
70 LOURDES
children wto, after hearing one fine fairy tale, ask for another
and another, and yet another. Oh! that they might have
more and more of those stories in which evil reality was flouted,
in which unjust nature was cuffed and slapped, in which the
Divinity intervened as the supreme healer, He who laughs at
science and distributes happiness according to His own good
pleasure.
First of all there were the deaf and the dumb who sudr
denly heard and spoke ; such as AureUe Bruneau, who was
incurably deaf, with the drums of both ears broken, and yet
was suddenly enraptured by the celestial music of a harmo-
nium ; such also as Lotiise Pourchet, who on her side had
been dumb for five-and-twenty years, and yet, whilst praying
in the Grotto, suddenly exclaimed ' Hail Mary, full of grace ! '
And there were others and yet others who were completely
cured by merely letting a few drops of water fall into theil
ears or upon their tongues. Then came the procession of the
blind : Father Hermann, who felt the Blessed Virgin's gentle
hand removing the veil which covered his eyes ; Mademoiselle
de Pontbriant, who was threatened with a total loss of sight,
but after a simple -prayer was enabled to see better than she had
ever seen before ; then a child of twelve years old whose cor-
neas resembled marbles^ but who, in three seconds, became
possessed of clear, deep eyes, bright with an angelic smile.
However there was especially an abundance of paralytics, of
lame people suddenly enabled to walk upright, of sufferers for
long years powerless to stir from their beds of misery and to
whom the voice said : ' Arise and walk ! ' Delannoy, afflicted
with ataxia, vainly cauterised and burnt, fifteen times an
inmate of the Paris hospitals, whence he had emerged with
the concurring diagnoses of twelve doctors, feels a strange
force raising him up as the Blessed Sacrament goes by,
and he begins to follow it, his legs strong and healthy once
more.* Marie Louise Delpon, a girl of fourteen, suffering
from paralysis which had stiffened her legs, drawn back her
hands, and twisted her mouth on one side, sees her limbs
* This was one of the most notorious of all the recorded cases, and I
gave a few particulars concerning it in the earlier editions of this trans-
lation. Subsequently, however, the affair had a very strange sequel, an
intelligible account of which cannot well be supplied within the compass
of a foot-note. I have therefore Inserted the needful details at the end
of this volume. See pp. 491-2. — Trans.
miRACLES ft
loosen and the distortion of her mouth disappear as though
an invisible hand ■were severing the fearful bonds which had
deformed her. Marie Vachier, riveted to her armchair during
seventeen years by paraplegia, not only runs and flies on
emerging from the piscina, but finds no trace even of the
sores ■with ■which her long enforced immobility had covered
her body. And Georges Hanquet, attacked by softening of
the spinal marrow, passes without transition from agony to
perfect health ; while L^onie Charton, likewise afSicted with
softening of the meduUa, and whose vertebrae bulge out to a
considerable extent, feels her hump melting away as though
by enchantment, and her legs rise and straighten, renovated
and •vigorous.
Then came all sorts of ailments. First those brought
about by scrofula — a great many more legs long incapable of
service and made anew. There was Margaret Gehier, who
had suffered from coxalgia for seven-and-twenty years, whose
hip was devoured by the disease, whose left knee was anohy-
losed, and who yet was suddenly able to fall upon her knees
to thank the Blessed Virgin for healing her. There was also
PhUomtee Simoimeau, the young Vend^enne, whose left leg
was perforated by three horrible sores in the depths of •which
her carious bones were visible, and whose bones, whose flesh,
and whose skin were all formed afresh.
Next came the dropsical ones : Madame Ancelin, the
swelling of whose feet, hands, and entire body subsided
without anyone being able to tell whither all the water had
gone; Mademoiselle Montagnon, from whom, on various
occasions, nearly twenty quarts of water had been dra'wn,
and who, on again sweUing, was entirely rid of the fluid by
the application of a bandage which had been dipped in
the miraculous source. And, in her case also, none of the
water could be found, either in her bed or on the floor. In
the same way not a complaint of the stomach resisted, all
disappeared with the first glass of water. There was Marie
Souchet, who vomited black blood, who had wasted to a
skeleton, and who devoured her food and recovered her flesh
in two days' time ! There was Marie Jarland, who hadburiit
herself internally through drinking a glassful of a metallic
solution used for cleansing and brightening kitchen utensils,'
and who felt the tumour which had resulted from her injuries
melt rapidly away. Moreover, every tumour disappeared in
this fashion, in the piscina, without leaving the slightest trace
jz LOURDES-
behind. But that which caused yet greater wondettnent wad
the manner in which ulcers, cancers, all sorts of horrible,,
visible sores were cicatrised by a breath from on high. A
Jew, an actor, -whose hand was devoured by an ulcer, merely
had to dip it in the water and he was cured. A very wealthy
young foreigner who had a wen as large as a hen's egg on
his right wrist, hehdi it dissolve. Eose Duval, who, as a
result of a white tumour, had a hole in her left elbow, large
enough to accommodate a walnut, was able to watch and
follow the prompt action of the new flesh in filling up this
cavity ! The widow Fromond, with a lip half destroyed by a
cancerous formation, merely had to apply the miraculous
water to it as a lotion, and not even a red mark remained.
Marie Moreau, who experienced fearful sufferings from a
cancer in the breast, fell asleep, after laying on it a linen cloth
soaked in some water of Lourdes, and when she awoke, two
hours later, the pain had disappeared, and her flesh was once
more smooth and pink and fresh.
At last Sister Hyacinthe began to speak of the immediate
And complete cures of phthisis, and this was the triumph,
the healing of that terrible disease which ravages humanity,
which unbelievers defied the Blessed Virgin to cure, but
which she did cure, it was said, by merely raising her little
finger.* A hundred instances, more extraordinary one than
the other, pressed forward for citation.
Marguerite Coupel, who has suffered from phthisis for
three years, and the upper part of whose lungs is destroyed
by tuberculosis, rises up and goes off, radiant with health.
Madame de la Eiviere, who spits blood, who is ever covered
with a cold perspiration, whose naUs have already acquired a
violet tinge, who is indeed on the point of drawing her last
breath, requires but a spoonful of the water to be administered
to her between her teeth, and lo 1 the rattle ceases, she sits
up, makes the responses to the litanies, and asks for some
broth. Julie Jadot requires four spoonfuls ; but then she
could nOjlonger hold up her head, she was of such a delicate
constitution tiiat disease had reduced her to nothing ; and yet,
in a few days, she becomes quite fat. Anna Catry, who is in
the most advanced stage of the malady, with her left lung half
destroyed by a cavity, is plunged five times into the cold water,
* It is commonly stated that there are more oases of consamption in
England than in any other country in the world. This passage should
therefore be of partjctjlivr ioterpgt to English jreadera, — ?V«n«i
MIRACLES 73
contrary to all the dictates of prudence, and she is cured, her
lung is healthy once more. Another consumptive girl, con-
demned by fifteen doctors, has asked nothing, has simply fallen
on her knees in the Grotto, by chance as it were, and is after-
wards quite surprised at having been 6ured au passage, through
the hicky circumstance of having been there, no doubt, at the
hour when the Blessed Virgin, moved to pity, allows miracles
to fall from her invisible hands.
Miracles and yet more miracles ! They rained down like
the flowers of dreams from a clear and balmy sky. Some of
them were touching, some of them were childish. An old
woman who, having her hand anchylosed, had been incapable
of moving it for thirty years, washes it in the water and is at
once able to make the sign of the Cross. Sister Sophie, who
barked like a dog, plunges into the piscina and emerges from
it with a clear, pure voice, chanting a canticle. Mustapha, a
Turk, invokes the White Lady and recovers the use of his
right eye by applying a compress to it. An officer of Turcos
was protected at Sedan ; a cuirassier of Keichsoffen would have
died, pierced in the heart by a bullet, if this bullet after passing
through his pocket book had not stayed its flight on reaching
a little picture of Our Lady of Lourdes ! And, as with the
men and the women, so did the children, the poor, suffering
little ones, find mercy ; a paralytic boy of five rose and walked
after being held for five minutes under the icy jet of the spring ;
another one, fifteen years of age, who, lying in bed, could oidy
raise an inarticulate cry, sprang out of the piscina, shouting
that he was cured ; another one, but two years old, a poor tiny
fellow who had never been able to walk, remained for a
quarter of an hour in the cold water and then, invigorated and
smiling, took his first steps like a little man ! And for all of
them, the httle ones as well as the adults, the pain was acute
whilst the miracle was being aecompUshed ; for the work of
repair could not be effected without causing an extraordinary
shock to the whole human organism ; the bones grew again,
new flesh was formed, and the disease, driven away, made its
escape in a final convulsion. But how great was the feeling
of comfort which followed ! The doctors could not believe
their eyes, their astonishment burst forth at each fresh cure,
when they saw the patients whom they had despaired of run
and jump and eat with ravenous appetites. All these chosen
ones, these women cured of their ailments, walked a couple of
rojles, sat down to roast fowl, and slept the soundest of sleeps
n LOURDES
for a dozen hours. Moreover, there was WO convalescence, it
was a sudden leap from the death throes to complete health.
Limbs were renovated, sores were filled up, organs were re-
formed in their entirety, plumpness returned to the emaciated,
all with the velocity of a hghtning flash 1 Science was com-
pletely baffled. Not even the most simple precautions were
taken, women were bathed at all times and seasons, perspiring
consumptives were plunged into the icy water, sores were left
to their putrefaction without any thought of employing anti-
Bej)tics. And then what canticles of joy, what shouts of
gratitude and love arose at each fresh miracle I The favoured
one falls upon her knees, all who are present weep, conversions
are effected, Protestants and Jews alike embrace Cathohcism
— other miracles these, miracles of faith, at which Heaven
triumphs. And when the favoured one, chosen for the
miracle, returns to her vUlage, aU the inhabitants crowd to
meet her, whilst the bells peal merrily ; and when she is seen
springing lightly from the vehicle which has brought her
home, shouts and sobs of joy burst forth and all intonate the
Magnificat : Glory to the Blessed Virgin! Gratitude and love
for ever !
Indeed, that which was more particularly evolved from the
realisation of all these hopes, from the celebration of all these
ardent thanksgivings, was gratitude — gratitude to the Mother
most pure and most admirable. She was the great passion of
every soul, she, the Virgin most powerful, the Virgin most
merciful, the Mirror of Justice, the Seat of Wisdom.* All
hands were stretched towards her, Mystical Eose in the dim
light of the chapels. Tower of Ivory on the horizon of dream-
land. Gate of Heaven leading into the Infinite. Each day at
early dawn she shone forth, bright Morning Star, gay with
juvenescent hope. And was she not also the Health of the
weak, the Befuge of sinners, the Comforter of the afflicted ?
France had ever been her well-loved country, she was adored
there with an ardent worship, the worship of her womanhood
and her motherhood, the soaring of a divine affection ; and it
was particularly in France that it pleased her to show herself
to little shepherdesses. She was so good to the Uttle and the
humble ; she continually occupied herself with them ; and if
she was appealed to so willingly it was because she was known
* For the infonnation of Protestant readers it may be mentioned
that all the titles enumerated in this passage are taken bom the Litany
of the Blessed Virgin. — Tram. '
MIRACLES il
to be the intermediary of love betwixt Earth and Heaven.
Every evening she wept tears of gold at the feet of her divine
Son to obtain favours from Him, and these favours were the
miracles which He permitted her to work, — these beautiful,
flower-like miracles, as sweet-scented as the roses of Paradise,
so prodigiously splendid and fragrant.
But the train was still rolling, rolling onward. They had
just passed Coutras, it was six o'clock, and Sister Hyacinthe,
rising to her feet, clapped her hands together and once again
repeated : ' The Angelus, my children 1 '
Never had ' Aves ' impregnated with greater faith, inflamed
with a more fervent desire to be heard by Heaven, winged
their flight on high. And Pierre suddenly understood every-
thing, clearly realised the meaning of all these pilgrimages, of
aU these trains rolling along through every country of the
civilised world, of all these eager crowds, hastening towards
Lourdes, which blazed over yonder like the abode of salvation
for body and for mind. Ah ! the poor wretches whom, ever
since morning, he had heard groaning with pain, the poor
wretches who exposed their sorry carcasses to the fatigues of
such a journey I They were all condemned, abandoned by
science, weary of consulting doctors, of having tried the
torturing effects of futile remedies. And how well one could
understand that, burning with a desire to preserve their lives,
unable to resign themselves to the injustice and indifference
of Nature, they should dream of a superhuman power, of
an almighty Divinity who, in their favour, would perchance
annul the estabUshed laws, alter the course of the planets,
and reconsider His creation I For if the world failed them,
did not the Divinity remain to them ? In their cases reality
was too abominable, and an immense need of Ulusion and
falsehood sprang up within them. Oh ! to believe that there is
a supreme Justiciar somewhere, one who rights the apparent
wrongs of things and beings ; to believe that there is a
Redeemer, a consoler who is the real master, who can carry the
torrents back to their source, who can restore youth to the
aged, and life to the dead ! And when you are covered with
sores, when your Umbs are twisted, when your stomach is
swollen by tumours, when your lungs are destroyed by disease,
to be able to say that all this is of no consequence, that every-
thing may disappear and be renewed at a sign from the
Blessed Virgin, that it is sufficient that you should pray to
her, touch her heart, and obtain the favour of being chosen by
76 LOURDES
her. And then what a heavenly fount of hope ap^eated Mth
the prodigious flow of those beautiful stories of cure, those
adorable fairy tales which lulled and intoxicated the feverish
imaginations of the sick and the infirm. Since little Sophie
Couteau, with her white, sound foot, had climbed into that
carriage, opening to the gaze of those within it the limitless
heavens of the Divine and the Supernatural, how well one
could understand the breath of resurrection that was passing
over the world, slowly raising those who despaired the most
from their beds of misery, and making their eyes shine since
life was yet a possibility for them, and they were, perhaps, about
to begin it afresh.
Yes, 'twas indeed that. If that woeful train, was rolling,
rolling on, if that carriage was fuU, if the other carriages were
full also, if France and the world, from the uttermost limits
of the earth, were crossed by similar trains, if crowds of three
hundred thousand beHevers, bringing thousands of sick along
with them, were ever setting out, from one end of the year to
the other, it was because the Grotto yonder was shining forth
in its glory like a beacon of hope and illusion, like a sign of
the revolt and triumph of the Impossible over inexorable
materiality. Never had a more impassionating romance been
devised to exalt the souls of men above the stem laws of life.
To dream that dream, this was the great, the ineffable happi-
ness. If the Fathers of the Assumption had seen the success
of their pilgrimages increase and spread from year to year, it
was because they sold to all the flocking peoples the bread of
consolation and illusion, the delicious bread of hope, for which
suffering humanity ever hungers with a hunger that nothing
will ever appease. And it was not merely the physical sores
which cried aloud for cure, the whole of man's moral and intel-
lectual being Ukewise shrieked forth its wretchedness, with an
insatiable yearning for happiness. To be happy, to place the
certainty of life in faith, to lean till death should come upon
that one strong staff of travel — such was the desire exhaled
by every breast, the desire which made every moral grief
bend the knee, imploring a continuance of grace, the conver-
sion of dear ones, the spiritual salvation of self and those one
loved. The mighty cry spread from pole to pole, ascended
and filled all the regions of space : To be happy, happy for
evermore, both in life and in death !
And Pierre saw the suffering beings around him lose all
perception of the jolting and recover their strength as league
Miracles fj
by league they drew nearer to the miracle. Even Madame
Maze grew talkative, certain as she felt that the Blessed
Virgin would restore her husband to her. With a smile on
her face Madame Vincent gently rocked her little Eose in her
arms, thinking that she was not nearly so ill as those all but
lifeless children who, after being plunged in the icy water,
sprang out and played. M. Sabathier jested with M. de
Guersaint, and explained to him that, next October, when he
had recovered the use of his legs, he should go on a trip to
Eome — a journey which he had been postponing for fifteen
years and more. Madame Vetu, quite calmed, feeling nothing
but a shght twinge in the stomach, imagined that she was
hungry, and asked Madame de Jonqui^re to let her dip some
strips of bread in a glass of milk ; whilst Elise Eouquet, for-
getting her sores, ate some grapes, with face uncovered. And
in La Grivotte who was now sitting up and Brother Isidore
who had ceased moaning, all those fine stories had left a
pleasant fever, to such a point that, impatient to be cured, they
grew anxious to know the time. For a minute also the man,
the strange man, resuscitated. Whilst Sister Hyacinthe was
again wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he raised his
eyeUds, and a smile momentarily brightened his pallid coun-
tenance. Yet once again he, also, had hoped.
Marie was stiU holding Pierre's fingers in her own small,
warm hand. It was seven o'clock, they were not due at
Bordeaux till half-past seven ; and the belated train was
quickening its pace yet more and more, rushing along with
wild speed in order to make up for the minutes it had lost.
The storm had ended by coming down, and now a gentle
light of infinite purity fell from the vast clear heavens.
' Oh ! how beautiful it is, Pierre — how beautiful it is I '
Marie again repeated, pressing his hand with tender affection.
And leaning towards him, she added in an undertone : ' I
beheld the Blessed Virgin a httle while ago, Pierre, and it
was your cure that I implored and shall obtain.'
The priest, who understood her meaning, was thrown into
confusion by the divine light which gleamed in her eyes aa
she fixed them on his own. She had forgotten her own
sufferings ; that which she had asked for was his conversion ;
and that prayer of faith emanating, pure and candid, from
that dear suffering creature, upset his soul. Yet why should
he not believe some day ? He himself had been distracted by
•all those extraordiuaiy narratives. The stifling heat of the
78 LOURDES
carriage had made him dizzy, the sight of all the woe heaped
up there caused his heart to bleed with pity. And contagion
was doing its work ; he no longer knew where the real and
the possible ceased, he lacked the power to disentangle so many
stupefying facts, to explain such as admitted of explanation
and reject the others. At one moment, indeed, as a hymn
once more resounded and carried him off with its stubborn
importunate rhythm, he ceased to be maSSer of liimself, and
imagined that he was at last beginning to believe amidst the
hallucinatory vertigo which reigned in that travelling hospital,
rolling, ever rolling onward at full speed.
BBENADBTIB
The train left Bordeaux after a stoppage of a few minutes,
during which those who had not dined hastened to purchase
some provisions. Moreover, the ailing ones were constantly
drinking milk, and asking for biscuits like Uttle children.
And, as soon as they were off again. Sister Hyaeiathe clapped
her hands, and exclaimed : ' Come, let us make haste ; the
evening prayer.'
Thereupon, during a quarter of an hour came a confused
murmuring, made up of ' Paters ' and ' Aves,' self -examinations,
acts of contrition, and vows of trustful reUance in God, the
Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, with thanksgivings for protec-
tion and preservation that day, and, at last, a prayer for the
living and for the faithful departed.
'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost. Amen.'
It was ten minutes past eight o'clock, the shades of night
were abeady bedimming the landscape — a vast plain which
the evening mist seemed to prolong into the infinite, and
where, far away, bright dots of Ught shone out from the
windows of lonely, scattered houses. In the carriage, the
lights of the lamps were flickering, casting a subdued yellow
glow on the luggage and the pilgrims, who were sorely
shaken by the spreading tendency of the train's motion.
' You Imow, my children,' resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who
had remained standing, ' I shall order silence when we get to
Jjamothe, in about ftu hour's time. So you have aa hour to
SERNADETTS 79
amuse yourselves, but you must be reasonable and not excite
yourselves too much. And when we have passed Lamothe,
you hear me, there must not be another word, another sound,
you must all go to sleep.'
This made them laugh.
' Oh ! but it is the rule, you know,' added the Sister, ' and
surely you have too much sense not to obey me.'
Since the morning they had punctually fulfilled the pro-
gramme of rehgious exercises specified for each successive
hour. -And now that aU the prayers had been said, the beads
told, the hymns chanted, the day's duties were over, and a
brief interval of recreation was allowed before sleeping. They
were however at a loss as to what they should do.
' Sister,' suddenly said Marie, ' if you would allow Monsieur
I'Abb^ to read to us — he reads extremely well — and as it
happens I have a little book with me — a history of Bemadette
which is so interesting '
The others did not let her finish, but with the suddenly
awakened desire of children to whom a beautiful story has
been promised, loudly exclaimed ; ' Oh ! yes. Sister. Oh ! yes,
Sister '
'Of course I will allow it,' replied Sister Hyacinthe,
.' since it is a question of reading something instructive and
edifying.'
Pierre was obliged to consent. But to be able to read the
book he wished to be under the lamp, and it was necessary
that he should change seats with M. de Guersaint, whom the
promise of a story had delighted as much as it did the ailing
ones. And when the young priest, after changing seats and
^declaring that he would be able to see well enough, at last
opened the little book, a quiver of curiosity sped from one end
of the carriage to the other, and every head was stretched out,
lending ear with rapt attention. Fortunately, Pierre had a
dear, powerful voice and made himself distinctly heard above
the wheels, which now that the train travelled across a vast
leve.l plain, gave out but a subdued, rumbling sound.
; Before beginning, however, the young priest had examined
the book. It was one of those little works of propaganda
issued from the Catholic printing presses and circulated in^
■profusion throughout all Christendom. Badly printed, on
wretched paper, it was adorned on its blue cover with a little
woodcut of Our Lady of Lourdes, a naive design alike stiff
and awkward. The -book itself was short, and half an hour
6*0 LOVRD&S
would certainly suffice for Pierre to read it from cover to cover
without hurrying.
Accordingly, in his fine, clear voice, with its penetrating,
musical tones, he began his perusal as follows : —
' It happened at Lourdes, a little town near the Pyrenees,
on a Thursday, February 11, 1858. The weather was cold,
and somewhat cloudy, and in the humble home of a poor but
honest miUer named Francois Soubirous there was no wood
to cook the dinner. The miller's wife, Louise, said to her
younger daughter, Marie, " Go and gather some wood on the
bank of the Gave or on the common-land." The Gave is a
torrent which passes through Lourdes.
' Marie had an elder sister, named Bemadette, who had
lately arrived from the country, where some worthy villagers
had employed her as a shepherdess. She was a slender, deli-
cate, extremely innocent child, and knew nothing except her
rosary. Louise Soubirous hesitated to send her out with her
sister, on account of the cold, but at last, yielding to the en-
treaties of Marie and a young girl of the neighbourhood called
Jeanne Abadie, she consented to let her go.
' Following the bank of the torrent and gathering stray
fragments of dead wood, the three maidens at last found them-
selves in front of a grotto, hoUowed out in a huge mass of
rook which the people of the district caUed MassabieUe.'
Pierre had reached this point and was turning the page
when he suddenly paused and let the Httle book fall on hia
knees. The childish character of the narrative, its ready-
made, empty phraseology, filled him with impatience. He
himself possessed quite a collection of documents concerning
this extraordinary story, had passionately studied even its
most trifling details, and in the depths of his heart retained a
feeling of tender affection and infinite pity for Bemadette.
He had just reflected, too, that on the very next day he would
be able to begin that decisive inquiry which he had formerly
dreamt of making at Lourdes. Li fact, this was one of the
reasons which had induced him to accompany Marie on her
journey. And he was now conscious of an awakening of all
his curiosity respecting the Visionary, whom he loved because
he felt that she had been a girl of candid soul, truthful and
ill-fated, though at the same time he would much have liked
to analyse and explain her case. Assuredly, she had not lied,
she had indeed beheld a vision and heard voices, like Joan of
Arc ; and like Joan of Arc also, she was now, in the opinion
BERNADETTE 8i
of the devout, accomplishing the deliverance of Prance — from
sin if not from invaders, Pierre wondered what force could
have produced her — her and her work. How was it that the
visionary faculty had become developed in that lowly girl, so
distracting believing souls as to bring about a renewal of the
miracles of primitive times, as to found almost a new religion
in the midst of a Holy City, built at an outlay of millions, and
ever invaded by crowds of worshippers more numerous and
more exalted in mind than had ever been known siace the
days of the Crusades ?
And so, ceasing to read the book, Pierre began to tell his
companions all that he knew, all that he had divined and re-
constructed of that story which is yet so obscure despite the
vast rivers of ink which it has abeady caused to flow. He
knew the country and its maimers and customs, through his
long conversations with his friend, Doctor Chassaigne. And
he was endowed with charming fluency of language, an emo-
tional power of exquisite purity, many remarkable gifts well
fitting him to be a pulpit orator, which he never made use of,
although he had known them to be within him ever since his
seminary days. When the occupants of the carriage perceived
that he knew the story, far better and in far greater detail
than it appeared in Marie's Uttle book, and that he related it
also in such a gentle yet passionate way, there came an in-
crease of attention, and all those afBicted souls hungering for
happiness went forth towards him.
First came the story of Bernadette's childhood at Bartres,
where she had grown up in the abode of her foster-mother,
Madame Lagues, who, having lost an infant of her own, had
rendered those poor folks, the Soubirous, the service of suck-
ling and keeping their child for them. Bartres, a village of
four hundred souls, at a league or so from Lourdes, lay as it
were in a desert oasis, sequestered amidst greenery, and far
from any frequented highway. The road dips down, the few
houses are scattered over grassland, divided by hedges and
planted with v/alnut and chestnut trees, whilst the clear rivu-
lets, which are never silent, follow the sloping banks beside
the pathways, and nothing rises on high save the small ancient
romanesque church, which is perched on a hillock, covered
with graves. Wooded slopes undulate upon all sides. Bartres
lies in a hollow amidst grass of delicious freshness, grass of
intense greenness, which is ever moist at the roots, thanks
tp the eternal subterraneous expanse of water that descends
8a LOURDES
from the mouniaina. And Bemadette, who, since becbming
a~ big girl, had paid for her keep by tending lambs, was wont
to take them with her, season after season, through all the
greenery where she never met a soul. It was only now and
then, from the summit of some slope, that she saw the far-
away mountains, the Pic du Midi, the Pic de Visoos, those
masses which rose up, bright or gloomy, according to the
weather, and which stretched away to other peaks, lightly
and faintly coloured, vaguely and confusedly outlined, like
apparitions seen in dreams.
Then came the home of the Lagues, where her cradle was
still preserved, a sohtary, silent house, the last of the village.
A meadow planted with pear and apple trees, and only sepa-
rated from the open country by a narrow stream which one
could jump across, stretched out in front of the house. Inside
the latter, a low and damp abode, there were, on either side of
the wooden stairway leading to the loft, but two spacious
rooms, flagged with stones, and each containing four or five
beds. The girls, who slept together, fell asleep at even, gazing
at the fine pictures affixed to the walls, whilst the big clock
in its pinewood case gravely struck the hours in the midst of
the deep silence.
Ah I those years of Bartr^s ; in what sweet peacefulness
did Bemadette live them ! Yet she grew up very thin, always
in bad health, suffering from a nervous asthma which stifled
her at the least veering of the wind ; and on attaining her
twelfth year she could neither read nor write, nor speak other-
wise than in dialect, having remained quite infantile, behind-
hand in mind as in body. She was a very good little girl,
very gentle and well-behaved, and but httle different to other
children, except that instead of talking she preferred to listen.
Limited as was her intelligence, she often evinced much
natural common sense, and at times was prompt in her r&-
parties, with a kind of simple gaiety which made one smile.
It was only with infinite trouble that she was taught her
rosary, and when she knew it she seemed bent on carrying her
knowledge no further, but repsated it all day long, so that when-
ever you met her with her lambs, she invariably tad her chap-
let between her fingers, diligently telling each successive ' Pater '
and ' Ave.' For long, long hours she lived like this on the
grassy slopes of the hills, hidden away and haunted as it were
amidst the mysteries of the f ohage, seeing nought of the world
save the crests of the distant mountains, which, for an instant,
BERNADETTE 83
every now and then, would soar aloft in the radiant light, as
ethereal as the peaks of dreamland.
Days followed days, and Bernadette roamed, dreaming her
one narrow dream, repeating the sole prayer she knew, which,
gave her, amidst her solitude, so fresh and naively infantile,.
no other companion and Mend than the Blessed Virgin. But
what pleasant evenings she spent at winter-time in the room
on the left, where a fire was kept burning ! Her foster-mother
had a brother, a priest, who occasionally read some marvellous
stories to them — stories of saints, prodigious adventures of a
kind to make one tremble with mingled fear and joy, in which
Paradise appeared upon earth, whilst the heavens opened and
a glimpse was caught of the splendour of the angels. The
books he brought with him were often full of pictures — God
the Father enthroned amidst His glory ; Jesus, so gentle and
so handsome with His beaming face ; the Blessed Virgin, who
recurred again and again, radiant with splendour, clad now in
white, now in azure, now in gold, and ever so amiable, that,
Bernadette would see her again in her dreams. But the book
which was read more than all others was the Bible, an old
Bible which had been in the family for more than a hundred
years, and which time and usage had turned yellow. Each
winter evening Bemadette's foster-father, the only member of
the household who had learnt to read, would take a pin, passi
it at random between the leaves of the book, open the latter,,
and then start reading from the top of the right-hand page,
amidst the deep attention of both the women and the children,,
who ended by knowing the book by heart, and could have
continued reciting it without making a single mistake.
However, Bernadette, for her part, preferred the religious
works in which the Blessed Virgin constantly appeared with
her engaging smile. True, one reading of a different character
amused her, that of the marvellous story of the Four Brothers
Aymon. On the yellow paper cover of the little book, which-
had doubtless fallen from the bale of some peddler who had lost,
his way in that remote region, there was a naive cut showing
the four doughty knights, Eenaud and his brothers, all mounted
on Bayard, their famous battle charger, that princely present
made to them by the fairy Orlanda. And inside were narra-
tives of bloody fights, of the building and besieging of fortresses,
of the terrible swordthrusts exchanged by Eoland and Eenaud,'
who was at last about to fi:ee the Holy Land, withoiat men-:
tioning the tales of Maugis the Magician and his marvellous
o3
84, LOURDES
enchantments, and the Princess Clarisse, the King of Aqui-
taine's sister, who was more lovely than sunlight. Her imagi--
nation fired by such stories as these, Bemadette often found it
difficult to get to sleep ; and this was especially the case on the
evenings when the books were left aside and some person
of the company related a tale of witchcraft. The girl was
very superstitious, and after sundown could never be prevailed
upon to pass near a tower in the vicinity, which was said to
be haunted by the fiend. For that matter, all the folks of the
region were superstitious, devout, and simple-minded, the
whole countryside being peopled, so to say, with mysteries —
trees which sang, stones from which blood flowed, cross-roads
where it was necessary to say three 'Paters ' and three ' Aves,' if
you did not wish to meet the seven-horned beast who carried
maidens off to perdition. And what a wealth of terrifying
stories there was ! Hundreds of stories, so that there was no
finishing on the evenings when somebody started them. First
came the wehrwolf adventures, the tales of the unhappy men
whom the demon forced to enter into the bodies of dogs, the
great white dogs of the mountains. If you fire a gun at the
dog and a single shot should strike him, the man will be de-
livered ; but if the shot should fall on the dog's shadow, the
man will immediately die. Then came the endless procession
of sorcerers and sorceresses. In one of these tales Bernadette
evinced a passionate interest ; it was the story of a clerk of
the tribunal of Lourdes who, wishing to see the devil, was
conducted by a witch into an untiLLed field at midnight on
Good Friday. The devil arrived clad in magnificent scarlet
garments, and at once proposed to the clerk that he should
buy his soul, an offer which the clerk pretended to accept. It
so happened that the devil was carrying under his arm a
register in which different persons of the town, who had
already sold themselves, had signed their names. However
the clerk, who was a cunning fellow, pulled out of his pocket
a pretended bottle of ink, which in reality contained holy
water, and with this he sprinkled the devil, who raised fright-
ful shrieks, whilst the clerk took to flight, carrying the register
off with him. Then began a wild, mad race, which might
last throughout the night, over the mountains, through the
valleys, across the forests and the torrents. ' Give me back
my register I ' shouted the fiend. ' No, you shan't have it ! '
replied the clerk. And again and again it began afresh :
' Give me back my register 1 ' 'No, you shan't hay^ it \ '
BERNADETTE 85
And at last, finding himself out of breath, near the point of
succumbing, the clerk, who had his plan, threw himself into the
cemetery, which was consecrated ground, and was there able
to deride the devil at his ease, waving the register which
he had purloined so as to save the souls of all the unhappy
people who had signed their names in it. On the evening
when this- story was told, Bemadette, before surrendering
herself to sleep, would mentally repeat her rosary, delighted
with the thought that hell should have been baffled, though
she trembled at the idea that it would surely return to prowl
around her, as soon as the lamp should have been put out.
Throughout one winter, the long evenings were spent in
the church. Abb6 Ader, the village priest, had authorised
it, and many families came, in order to economise oil and
candles. Moreover they felt less cold when gathered together
in this fashion. The Bible was read, and prayers were repeated,
whilst the children ended by falling asleep. Bernadette alohe
struggled on to the finish, so pleased she was at being there,
in that narrow nave whose slender nervures were coloured
blue and red. At the farther end was the altar, also painted
and gilded, with its twisted columns and its screens on which
appeared the Virgin and St. Anne, and the Beheading of St.
John the Baptist — the whole of a gaudy and somewhat
barbaric splendour. And as sleepiness grew upon her, the
child must have often seen a mystical vision as it were of
those crudely coloured designs rising before her — have seen
the blood flowing from St. John's severed head, have seen the
aureolas shining, the Virgin ever returning and gazing at her
with her blue hving 'eyes, and looking as though she were on
the point of opening her vermilion Ups in order to speak to
her. For some months Bernadette spent her evenings in this
wise, half asleep in front of that sumptuous, vaguely defined
altar, in the incipieney of a divine dream which she carried
away with her, and finished in bed, slumbering peacefully
under the watchful care of her guardian angel.
And it was also in that old church, so humble yet so
impregnated with ardent faith, that Bemadette began to learn
her catechism. She would soon be fourteen now, and must
think of her first communion. Her foster-mother, who had
the reputation of being avaricious, did not send her to school,
but employed her in or about the house from morning till
evening. M. Barbet, the schoolmaster, never saw her at his
classes, though one day, when he gave the catechism lesson, in
86 LOURDES
the place of Abb6 Ader who was indisposed, he remarked
her on account of her piety and modesty. The village priest
was very fond of Bernadette and often spoke of her to
the schoolmaster, saying that he could never look at her
without thinking of the children of La Salette, since they must
have been good, candid, and pious as she was, for the Blessed
Virgin to have appeared to them.* N^ On another occasion
whilst the two men were walking one morning near the
village, and saw Bernadette disappear with her little flock
under some spreading trees in the distance, the ^bb6 re-
peatedly turned round to look for her, and again remarked :
'I cannot account for it, but every time I meet that child
it seems to me as if I saw M61anie, the young shepherdess,
httle Maximin's companion.' He was certainly beset by this
singular idea, which became, so to say, a pred&etion. More-
over, had he not one day after catechism, or one evening
when the villagers were gathered in the church, related that
marvellous story which was already twelve years old, that
story of the Lady in the dazzhng robes who walked upon the
grass mthout even making it bend, the Blessed Virgin who
showed,.herself to MSlanie and Masimin on the barJ^s of a
stream in the mountains, and confided to them a great secret
and announced the anger of her Son ? Ever since that day
a source had sprung up from the tears which she had shed,
a source which cured aU ailments, whilst the secret, inscribed
on parchment fastened with three seals, slumbered at Bome !
An^ Bernadette, no doubt, with her dreamy, silent air, had
listened passionately to that wonderful tale and carried it off
with her into the desert of foHage where she spent her days,
so that she might live it over again as she walked along
behind her lambs with her rosary slipping bead by bead
between her slender fingers.
Thus her childhood ran its course at Bartres. That
* It waa on September 19, 1846, that the Virgin is said to have ap-
peared in the ravine of La Sezia, adjacent to the valley of La Salette,
between Corps and Entraignes, in the department of the Is^re. The
visionaries were MManie Mathieu, a girl of fourteen, and Mazimin
Qiraud, a boy of twelve. The local clergy speedily endorsed the story of
the miracle, and thousands of people still go every year inpilgimage to a
church overlooking the valley, and bathe and drink at a so-caUed mira-
culous source. Two priests of Grenoble, however, AbbS Dfl6on and
Abbs Cartellier, accused a MdUe. de Lamerlik« of haV^ concocted
the miracle, and when she took proceedings against them for libel she
lost her case. — Tram,
BERNADETTE 87
^hich delighted one in this Bernadette, so poor-blooded, so
sUght of build, was her ecstatic eyes, beautiM visionary eyes,
from which dreams soared aloft like birds winging their
flight in a pure Hmpid sky. Her mouth was large, with lips
somewhat thick, expressive of kindliness ; her square-shaped
head had a straight brow, and was covered with thick black
hair, whilst her face would have seemed rather common but
for its charming expression of gentle obstinacy. Those who
did not gaze into her eyes, however, gave her no thought.
To them she was but an ordinary child, a poor thing of the
roads, a girl of reluctant growth, timidly humble in her ways.
Assuredly it was in her glance that Abb6 Ader had with
agitation detected the stifling ailment which filled her puny,
girlish form with suffering — that ailment born of the greeny
sohtude in which she had grown up, the gentleness of her
bleating lambs, the Angelic Salutation which she had carried
with her, hither and thither, under the sky, repeating and
repeating it to the point of hallucination, the prodigious
stories too which she had heard folk- tell at her foster-mother's,
the long evenings spent before the Uving altar-screens in the
church, and all the atmosphere of primitive faith which she
had breathed in that far-away rural region, hemmed in by
mountains.
At last, on one seventh of January, Bernadette had just
reached her fourteenth birthday, when her parents, finding
that she learnt nothing at Bartres, resolved to bring her
back to Lourdes for good, in order that she might diligently
study her catechism, and in this wise seriously prepare her-
self for her first communion. And so it happened that she
had already been at Lourdes some fifteen or twenty days,
when on February 11, a Thursday, cold and somewhat
cloudy
But Pierre could carry his narrative no further, for Sister
Hyacinthe had risen to her feet and was vigorously clapping
her hands. ' My children,' she exclaimed, ' it is past nine
o'clock. Silence ! silence 1 '
The train had indeed just passed Lamothe, and was roll-
ing with a dull rumble across a sea of darkness — the endless
plains of the Landes which the night submerged. For ten
minutes already not a sound ought to have been heard in the
carriage, one and aU ought to have been sleeping or suffering
uncomplainingly. However, a mutiny broke out.
•Ohl Sister I' exclaimed Marie, whose eyes were sparkling,
88 LOUkDES
'allow us just another short quarter of an hour I We have
got to the most interesting part.'
Ten, twenty voices took up the cry : ' Oh yes, Sister,
please do let us have another short quarter of an hour ! '
They all wished to hear the continuation, burning with as
much curiosity as though they had not known the story, so
captivated were they by the touches of compassionate human
feeling which Pierre introduced into his narrative. Their
glances never left him, aU their heads were stretched towards
him, fantastically illumined by the flickering light of the
lamps. And it was not only the sick who displayed this
interest ; the ten women occupying the compartment at the
far end of the carriage had also become impassioned, and,
happy at not missing a single word, turned their poor ugly
faces, now beautified by naive faith.
' No, I cannot ! ' Sister Hyaeinthe at first declared ; ' the
rules are very strict — you must be silent.'
However, she weakened, she herself feeling so interested
in the tale, that she could detect her heart beating under her
stomacher. Then Marie again repeated her request in an
entreating tone ; whUst her father, M. de Guersaint, who had
listened like one hugely amused, declared that they would all
fall ill if the story were not continued. And thereupon, see-
ing Madame de Jonqui^re smile with an indulgent air, Sister
Hyaeinthe ended by consenting.
' Well then,' said she, ' I will allow you another short
quarter of an hour ; but only a short quarter of an hour,
mind. That is understood, is it not ? For I should other-
wise be in fault.'
Pierre had waited quietly without attempting to intervene.
And he resumed his narrative in the same penetrating voice
as before, a voice in which his own doubts were softened by
pity for those who suffer and who hope.
The scene of the story was now transferred to Lourdes, to
the Eue des Petits Fosses, a narrow, tortuous, mournful street
taking a downward course between humble houses and
roughly plastered dead walls. The Soubirous family occupied
a single room on the ground floor of one of these sorry habi-
tations, a room at the end of a dark passage, in which seven
persons were huddled together, the father, the mother, and
five children. You could scarcely see in the chamber ; from
the tmy, damp inner courtyard of the house there came but
a greenish light. And in that room they slept, all of a heap ;
BERNADBtTE 89
and there also tkey ate, when they had bread. For sorae time
past the father, a miller by trade, could only with difficulty
obtain work as a journeyman. And it was from that dark
hole, that lowly wretchedness, that Bernadette, the elder girl,
with Marie her sister, and Jeanne, a little friend of the
neighbourhood, went out to pick up dead wood, on the cold
February Thursday already spoken of.
Then the beautiful tale was unfolded at length ; how the
three girls followed the bank of the Gave from the other side
of the castle, and how they ended by finding themselves on
the lie du Chalet in front of the rock of Massabielle, from
which they were only separated by the narrow stream diverted
from the Gave, and used for working the mill of Sdvy. It was
a wild spot, whither the common herdsman often brought the
pigs of the neighbourhood, which, when showers suddenly'
came on, would take shelter under this rock of Massabielle, at
whose base there was a kind of grotto of no great depth,
blocked at the entrance by eglantine and brambles. The
girls found dead wood very scarce ihat day, but at last on
seeing on the other side of the stream quite a gleaning of
branches deposited there by the torrent, Marie and Jeanne
crossed over through the water ; whilst Bernadette, more
deUcate than they were, a trifle young-ladyfied, perhaps,
remained on the bank lamenting, and not daring to wet her
feet. She was suffering slightly from humour in the head,
and her mother had expressly bidden her to wrap herself in
her capulet, a large white cwpulet * which contrasted vividly
with her old, black wooUen dress. When she found that her
companions would not help her, she resignedly made up her
mind to take o£f her sabots, and pull down her stockings. It
was then about noon, the three strokes of the Angelus rang
out from the parish church, rising into the broad calm winter
sky, which was somewhat veiled by fine fleecy clouds. And
it was then that a great agitation arose within her, resounding
in her ears with such a tempestuous roar that she fancied a
hurricane had descended from the mountains, and was pass-
ing over her. But she looked at the trees and was stupefied,
for not a leaf was stirring. Then she thought that she had
been mistaken, and was about to pick up her sabots, when
again the great gust swept through her ; but, this time, the
* This is a kind of hood, more generally known among the Beamese
peasantry as a sarot. Whilst forming a coif it also completely covers
the back and shoulders. — Trans,
90 LOURDES
disturbance in the ears reached her eyes, she no longer saw
the trees, but was dazzled by a whiteness, a kind of bright
light which seemed to her to settle itself against the rock,
in a narrow, lofty slit above the grotto, not unlike an ogival
window of a cathedral. In her fright she fell upon her knees.
What could it be, Man Dieu'i Sometunes, during bad
weather, when her asthma oppressed her more than usual,
she spent very bad nights, incessantly dreaming dreams which
were often painful, and whose stifling effect she retained on
awaking, even when she had ceased to remember anything.
Flames would surround her, the sun would flash before her
face. Had she dreamt in that fashion during the previous
night ? Was this the continuation of some forgotten dream ?
However, little by little a form became outlined, she believed
that she could distinguish a figure which the vivid light
rendered intensely white. In her fear lest it should be the
devil, for her mind was haunted by tales of vritohcraft, she
began to tell her beads. And when the light had slowly
faded away, and she had crossed the canal and joined Marie
and Jeanne, she was surprised to find that neither of them
had seen anything whilst they were picking up the wood in
front of the Grotto. On their way back to Lourdes the three
girls talked together. So she, Bemadette had seen something
then? What was it? At first, feeling uneasy, and some-
what ashamed, she would not answer ; but at last she said
that she had seen something white.
From this the rumours started and grew. The Soubirous,
on being made acquainted with the circumstance, evinced
much displeasure at such childish nonsense, and told their
daughter that she was not to return to the rock of Massabielle.
All the children of the neighbourhood, however, were already
repeating the tale, and when Sunday came the parents had to
give way, and allow Bemadette to betake herself to the
Grotto with a bottle of holy water to ascertain if it were really
the devil whom one had to deal with. She then again beheld
the light, the figure became more clearly defined, and smiled
upon her, evincing no fear whatever of the holy water. And,
on the ensuing Thursday, she once more returned to the spot
accompanied by several persons, and then for the first time
the radiant lady assiuned sufficient corporaUty to speak, and
say to her : 'Do me the kindness to come here for fifteen
days.'
Thus, little by Uttle, the lady had assumed a precise ap-
BERNADETTE 91
pearauce. The something clad in white had become indeed a
lady more beautiful than a queen, of a kind such as is only
seen in pictures. At first, in presence of the questions with
which all the neighbours plied her from morning till evening,
Bernadette had hesitated, disturbed, perhaps, by scruples of
conscience. But then, as though prompted by the very inter-
rogatories to which she was subjected, she seemed to perceive
the figure which she had beheld, more plainly, so that it defi-
nitively assumed life, with lines and hues from which the
child, in her after-descriptions, never departed. The lady's
eyes were blue and very mUd, her mouth was rosy and
smiling, the oval of her face expressed both the grace of youth
and of maternity. Below the veil covering her head and
falling to her heels, only a glimpse was caught of her admir-
a{ble fair hair, which was slightly curled. Her robe, which
was of dazzling whiteness, must have been of some material
unknown on earth, some material woven of the sun's rays.
Her sash, of the same hue as the heavens, was fastened loosely,
about her, its long ends streaming downwards, with the light
airiness of morning. Her ohaplet, wound about her right
arm, had beads of a milky whiteness, whilst the links and the
cross were of gold. And on her bare feet, on her adorable
feet of virgin snow, flowered two golden roses, the mystic
roses of this divine mother's immaculate flesh.
Where was it that Bernadette had seen this Blessed
Virgin, of such traditionally simple composition, unadorned
by a single jewel, having but the primitive grace imagined by
the painters of a people in its childhood ? In which illus-
trated book belonging to her foster-mother's brother, the good
priest, who read such attractive stories, had she beheld this
Virgin? Or in what picture, or what statuette, or what
stained-glass window; of the painted and gilded church where
she had spent so many evenings whilst growing up ? And
whence, above aU things^ had come those golden roses poised
on the Virgin's feet, that piously imagined florescence of
woman's flesh — from what romance of chivalry, fi:om what
story told after catechism by tlie Abb6 Ader, firom what un-
conscious dream indulged in- under the shady foliage of
!$artrSs, whilst ever and ever repeating that haunting AngeUo
Salutation ?
Pierre's voice had acquired a yet more feeling tone, for if
he did not say all these things to the simple-minded folks
who were lii^t'ening to him, still tho human explanation of all
94 LOVRDBS
these prodigies •which the feeling of doubt in the depths of his
being strove to supply, imparted to his narrative a quiver of
sympathetic, fraternal love. He loved Bernadette the better
for the great charm of her hallucination — that lady of such gra-
cious access, such perfect amiabihty, such politeness in appear-
ing and disappearing so appropriately. At first the great light
would show itself, then the vision took form, came and went,
leant forward, moved about, floating imperceptibly, with
ethereal lightness ; and when it vanished the glow Imgered
for yet another moment, and then disappeared like a star
fading away. No lady in this world could have such a white
and rosy face, with a beauty so aMn to that of the Virgins on
the picture-cards given to children at their first communions.
And it was strange that the eglantine of the Grotto did not
even hurt her adorable bare feet blooming with golden
flowers.
Pierre, however, at once proceeded to recount the other
apparitions. The fourth and fifth occurred on the Friday
and the Saturday ; but the Lady, who shone so brightly and
who had not yet told her name, contented herself on these
occasions with smiling and saluting without pronouncing a
single word. On the Sunday, however, she wept, and said to
Bernadette, ' Pray for sinners.' On the Monday, to the child's
great grief, she did not appear, wishing, no doubt, to try her.
But on the Tuesday she confided to her a secret which con-
cerned her (the girl) alone, a secret which she was never to
divulge ; * and then she at last told her what mission it was
that she entrusted to her : ' Go and tell the priests,' she said,
' that they must build a chapel here.' On the Wednesday
she frequently murmured the word ' Penitence ! penitence I
penitence 1 ' which the child repeated, afterwards Mssing the
earth. On the Thursday the Lady said to her; 'Go, and
drink, and wash at the spring, and eat of the grass that is
beside it,' words which the visionary ended by understanding,
when in the depths of the Grotto a source suddenly sprang
up beneath her fingers. And this was the miracle of the
enchanted fountain.
Then the second week ran its course. The Lady did not
appear on the Friday, but was punctual on the five following
* In a like way, it will be Temembered, the apparition at La Saletta
confided a secret to M^lanie and Maximin (see ante, note, p. 86). There
can be little doubt that Bernadette was acquainted with the story of the
miracle of La Salette. — 2Vo7M.
BERNADETTE 93
days, repeating her commands and gazing with a smile at the
humble girl whom she had chosen to do her bidding, and who,
on her side, told her beads at each apparition, kissed the earth
and repaired on her knees to the source, there to drink and
wash. At last, on Thursday, March 4, the last day of these
mystical assignations, the Lady requested more pressiagly
than before that a chapel might be erected in order that the
nations might come thither ia procession from all parts of the
earth. So far, however, in reply to all Bernadette's appeals,
she had refused to say who she was ; and it was only three
weeks later, on Thursday, March 25, that, joining her hands
together, and raising her eyes to Heaven, she said : ' I am the
Immaculate Conception.' On two other occasions, at some-
what long intervals, April 7 and July 16, she again appeared :
the first time to perform the miracle of the lighted taper, that
taper above which the child, plunged in ecstasy, for a long
time unconsciously left her hand, without burning it ; and the
second time to bid Bernadette farewell, to favour her with a
last smUe, and a last inclination of the head full of charming
politeness. This made eighteen apparitions all told ; and never
again did the Lady show herself.
Whilst Pierre went on with his beautiful, marvellous
story, so soothing to the wretched, he evoked for himself a
vision of that pitiable, lovable Bernadette, whose sufferings
had flowered so wonderfully. As a doctor had roughly ex-
pressed it, this girl of fourteen, at a critical period of her
life, already ravaged, too, by asthma, was, after all, simply
an exceptional victim of hysteria, afflicted with a degenerate
heredity and lapsing into infancy. If there were no violent
crises in her case, if there were no stiffening of the muscles
during her attacks, if she retained a precise recollection
of her dreams, the reason was that her case was peculiar
to herself, and she added, so to say, a new and very curi-
ous form to aU the forms of hysteria known at the time.
Miracles only begin when things cannot be explained; and
science, so far, knows and can explain so little, so infinitely do
the phenomena of disease vary according to the nature of the
patient 1 But how many shepherdesses there had been before
Bernadette who had seen the Virgin in a similar way, amidst
all the same childish nonsense ! Was it not always the same
story, the Lady clad in light, the secret confided, the spring
bursting forth, the mission which had to be fulfilled, the miracles
whose enchantments would convert the masses ? And was
94 LOURDES
not the personal appearance of the Virgin always in accor-
dance Trith a poor child's dreams — akin to some coloured figure
in a missal, an ideal compounded of traditional beauty, gentle-
ness, and politeness. And the same dreams showed themselves
in the naivete of the means which were to be employed and of
the object which was to be attained-^the deliverance of nations,
the building of churches, the processional pilgrimages of the
faithful ! Then, too, all the words which fell from Heaven
resembled one another, calls for penitence, promises of help ;
and in this respect, in Bernadette's case, the only new feature
was that most extraordinary declaration : ' I am the Immacu-
late Conception,' which burst forth — very usefully — as the
recognition by the Blessed Virgin herself of the dogma pro-
mulgated by the Court of Eome but three years previously !
It was not the Immaculate Virgin who appeared : no, it was
the Immaculate Conception, the abstraction itself, the thing,
the dogma, so that one might well ask oneself if really the
Virgin had spoken in such a fashion. As for the other words,
it was possible that Bemadette had heard them somewhere
and stored them up in some unconscious nook of her memory.
But these — ' I am the Immaculate Conception ' — whence had
they come as though expressly to fortify a dogma — still bit-
terly discussed — with such prodigious support as the direct
testunony of the Mother conceived without sin ? At this
thought, Pierre who was convinced of Bernadette's absolute
good faith, who refused to believe that she had been the instru-
ment of a fraud, began to waver, deeply agitated, feeling his
belief in truth totter within him.
The apparitions, however, had caused intense emotion at
Lourdes ; crowds flocked to the spot, miracles began, and
those inevitable persecutions broke out which ensure the
triumph of new reUgions. Abb6 Peyramale, the parish priest
of Lourdes, an extremely honest man, with an upright,
vigorous mind, was able in all truth to declare that he did not
know this child, that she. had not yet been seen at catechism.
Where was the pressure then, where the lesson learnt by
heart? There was nothing but those years of childhood
spent at Bartr^s, the first teachings of Abb6 Ader, conver-
sations possibly, religioas ceremonies in honour of the recently
proclaimed dogma, or simply the gift of one of those com-
memorative medals which had been scattered in profusion.
Never did Abb6 Ader reappear upon the scene, he who
had predicted the mission of the future visionary. He was
BERNADETTE 9S
flestined to remain apart from Bernadette and her future
career, he who, the first, had seen her little soul blossom in
his pious hands. And yet all the unknown forces that had
sprung from that sequestered -village, from that nook of
greenery where superstition and poverty of intelligence pre-
vailed, were still making themselves felt, disturbing the
brains of men, disseminating the contagion of the mysteri-
ous. It was remembered that a shepherd of Argelfis, speaking^
of the rock of Massabielle, had prophesied that great things>
would take place there. Other children, moreover, now fell
in ecstasy with their eyes dilated and their Umbs quivering
with convulsions, but these only saw the devil. A whirlwind
of madness seemed to be passing over the region. An old lady
of Lourdes declared that Bernadette was simply a witch and
that she had herself seen the toad's foot in her eye. But for
the others, for the thousands of pilgrims who hastened to the
spot, she was a saint, and they kissed her garments. Sobs
burst forth and frenzy seemed to seize upon the souls of the
beholders, when she fell upon her knees before the Grotto, a
lighted taper in her right hand, whilst with the left she told
the beads of her rosary. She became very pale and quite
beautiful, transfigured, so to say. Her features gently
ascended in her face, lengthened into an expression of extra-
ordinary beatitude, whilst her eyes filled with light, and her
lips parted as though she were speaking words which could
not be heard. And it was quite certain that she had no will
of her own left her, penetrated as she was by her dream,
possessed by it to such a point in the confined, exclusive
sphfere in which she lived, that she continued dreaming it even
when awake, and thus accepted it as the only indisputable
reality, prepared to testify to it even at the cost of her blood,
repeating it over and over again, obstinately, stubbornly cling-
ing to it, and never varying in the details she gave. She diS
not lie, for she did not know, could not and would not desire
anything, apart from it.
Forgetful of the flight of tims, Pierre was now sketching a
charming picture of old Lourdes, that pious little town,
slumbering at the foot of the Pyrenees. The castle, perched
on a rock at the point of intersection of the seven vaUeys of
Lavedan, had formerly been the key of the mountain districts.
But, in Bernadette's time, it had become a mere dismantled,
ruined pile, at the entra,nce of a road leading nowhere. Modern
life found its march stayed by a formidable rampart of lofty,
9^ LOURDES
snow-capped peaks, and only the trans-Pyrenean railway — had
it been constructed — could have established an active circula-
tion of social life in that sequestered nook where human exis-
tence stagnated like dead water. Forgotten, therefore, Lourdes
remained slumbering, happy and sluggish amidst its old-time
peacefulness, with its narrow, pebble-paved streets and its
black houses with dressings of marble. The old roofs were
still all massed on the eastern side of the castle ; the Rue de la
Grotte, then called the Eue du Bois, was but a deserted and
often impassable road ; no houses stretched down to the Gave
as now, and the scum-laden waters rolled through a perfect
solitude of pollard wiUows and tall grass. On weekdays but
few people passed across the Place du Marcadal, such as
housewives hastening on errands, and petty cits airing their
leisure hours ; and you had to wait tiU Sundays or fair days
to find the inhabitants rigged out in their best clothes and
assembled on the Champ Commun, in company with the
crowd of graziers who had come down from the distant table-
lands with their cattle. During the season when people resort
to the Pyrenean waters, the passage of the visitors to Cauterets
and Bagneres also brought some animation ; diligences passed
through the town twice a day : but they came from Pau by a
wretched road, and had to ford the Lapaca, which often over-
flowed its banks. Then climbing the steep ascent of the Eue
Basse, they skirted the terrace of the church, which was
shaded by large elms. And what soft peacefulness prevailed
in and around that old semi- Spanish church, full of ancient
carvings, columns, screens, and statues, peopled with
visionary patches of gilding and painted flesh, which time
tad mellowed and which you faintly discerned as by the
light of mystical lamps ! The whole population came there
to worship, to fiU their eyes with the dream of the Mysterious.
There were no unbelievers, the inhabitants of Lourdes were a
people of primitive faith ; each corporation marched behind
the banner of its saint, brotherhoods of aU kinds united the
entire town, on festival mornings, in one large Christian family.
And, as with some exquisite flower that has grown in the soil
of its choice, great purity of life reigned there. There was
not even a resort of debauchery for young men to wreck their
lives, and the girls, one and all, grew up with the perfume and
beauty of innocence, under the eyes of the Blessed Virgin,
Tower of Ivory and Seat of Wisdom.
And how well one could understand that Bernadette,
BERNADETTE §7
jbom in that holy soil, should flower in it, like one of nature'8
roses budding in the wayside bushes ! She was indeed the
very florescence of that region of ancient beUef and rectitude ;
she would certainly not have sprouted elsewhere ; she could
»nly appear and develop there, amidst that belated race,
^dfit the slumberous peacefulness of a child-Uke people,
under the moral discipline of rehgion. And what intense
love at once burst forth all around her! What blind con-
fidence was displayed in her mission, what immense consola-
tion and hope came to human hearts on the very morrow of
the first miracles 1 A long cry of relief had greeted the cure
of old Bourriette recovering his sight, and of little Justin
Bouhohorts coming to life again in the icy water of the.
spring. At last, then, the Blessed Virgia was intervening in
favour of those who despaired, forcing that imkind mother.
Nature, to be just and charitable. This was divine omnipo-
tence returning to reign on earth, sweeping the laws of the
world aside in order to work the happiness of the suffering
and the poor. The miracles multiplied, blazed forth, from
day to day more and more extraordinary, hke unimpeachable
proof of Bernadette's veracity. And she was, indeed, the
rose of the divine garden, whose deeds shed perfume, the
rose who beholds all the other flowers of grace and salvation
spring into being around her.
Pierre had reached this point of his story, and was again
enumerating the miracles, on the point of recounting the
prodigious triumph of the Grotto, when Sister Hyaointhe,
awaking with a start, from the ecstasy into which the
narrative had plunged her, hastily rose to her feet. ' Eeally,
really,' said she, 'there is no sense in it. It wUl soon be
eleven o'clock.'
This was true. They had left Morceux behind them, and
would now soon be at Mont de Marsan. So Sister Hyacinthe
clapped her hands once more, and added : ' Silence, my chil-
dren, silence ! '
This time they did not dare to rebel, for they felt she was
in the right, they were unreasonable. But how greatly they
regretted not hearing the continuation, how vexed they were
that the story should cease when only half told ! The ten
women in the further compartment even let a murmur of
disappointment escape .them ; whilst the sick, their faces
still outstretched, their dilated eyes gazing upon the light of
hope, seemed to be yet listening. Those miracles which ever
a
99 LOURDES
and ever returned to their minds filled them with unlimited,
haunting, supernatural joy.
' And don't let me hear anyone breathe even,' added Sister
Hyaointhe gaily, *or otherwise I shall impose penance on
you.'
Madame de Jonqui^re laughed good-naturedly. ' You
must obey, my children,' she said ; ' be good and get to sleep,
so that you may have strength to pray at the Grotto to-
morrow with all your hearts.'
Then silence fell, nobody spoke any further ; and the only
sounds were those of the rumbling of the wheels and the jolt-
ing of the train as it was carried along at full speed through
the black night.
Pierre, however, was unable to sleep. Beside him, M. de
Guersaint was already snoring lightly, looking very happy
despite the hardness of his seat. For a time the young
priest saw Marie's eyes wide open, stUl full of all the
radiance of the marvels that he had related. For a long
while she kept them ardently fixed upon his own, but at last
closed them, and then he knew not whether she was sleeping,
or with eyelids simply closed was living the everlasting
miracle over agaia. Some of the sufferers were dreaming
aloud, giving vent to bursts of laughter which unconscious
moans interrupted. Perhaps they beheld the Archangels
■opening their flesh to wrest their diseases from them. Others,
restless with insomnia, turned over and over, stifling their
sobs and gazing fixedly into the darkness. And, with a
shudder born of aU the mystery he had evoked, Pierre,
distracted, no longer master of himself in that delirious
sphere of fraternal suffering, ended by hating his very mind,
and, drawn into close communion with all those humble folks,
sought to believe like them. What could be the use of that
physiological inquiry into Bemadette's case, so full of gaps
and intricacies ? Why should he not accept her as a mes-
senger from the spheres beyond, as one of the elect chosen
for the divine mystery? Doctors were but ignorant men
with rough and brutal hands, and it would be so delightful
to fall asleep in childlike faith, in the enchanted gardens
of the impossible. And for a moment indeed he surrendered
himself, experiencing a delightful feeling of comfort, no
longer seeking to explain anything, but accepting the vision-
ary with her sumptuous cortige of miracles, and relying on
God to think and determine for him. Then he looked out
BERNADETTE 99
through the window, which they did not dare to open on
account of the consumptive patients, and beheld the im-
measurable night which enwrapped the country across which
the train was fleeing. The storm must have burst forth
there ; the sky was now of an admirable nocturnal purity, aa
though cleansed by the masses of fallen water. Large stars
shone out in the dark velvet, alone illumining, with their
mysterious gleams, the silent refreshed fields, which in-
cessantly displayed but the black sohtude of slumber. And
across the Landes, through the valleys, between the hills, that
carriage of wretchedness and suffering rolled on and on,
overheated, pestilential, rueful, and wailing, amidst the
serenity of the august night, so lovely and so mild.
They had passed Eiscle at one in the morning. Between
the jolting, the painful, hallucinatory silence still contiaued.
At two o'clock, as they reached Vic-de-Bigorre, low moans
were heard ; the bad state of the line, with the unbearable
spreading tendency of the train's motion, was sorely shaking
the patients. It was only at Tarbes, at half-past two, that
silence was at length broken, and that momiag prayers
were said, though black night still reigned around them.
There came first the ' Pater,' and then the ' Ave,' the ' Credo,'
and the supplication to God to grant them the happiness of
a glorious day.
' 0 God, vouchsafe me sufficient strength that I may avoid
all that is evil, do all that is good, and suffer uncomplain-
ingly every pain.'
And now there was to be no further stoppage until they
reached Lourdes. Barely three more quarters of an hour, and
Lourdes, with all its vast hopes, would blasse forth. in the
midst of that night, so long and cruel. Their painful
awakening was enfevered by the thought ; a final agitation
arose amidst the morning discomfort, as the abominable
Bufferings began afresh.
Sister Hyacinthe, however, was especially anxious about
the strange man, whose sweat- covered face she had been con-
tinually wiping. He had so far managed to keep alive, she
watching him without a pause, never having once closed her
eyes, but unremittingly listening to his faint breathing with
the stubborn desire to take him to the holy Grotto before he
died.
All at once, however, she felt frightened ; and addressing
herself to Madame de Jonqui^re, she hastily exclaimed, 'Pray
b2
100 LOURDES
pass me the -vinegar bottle at once — I can no longet hear him
breathe.'
For an instant, indeed, the man's faint breathing had
ceased. His eyes were still closed, his lips parted ; he could
not have been paler, he had an ashen hue, and was cold. And
the carriage was still rolling along with its ceaseless rattle
of coupling -irons; the speed of the traia seemed even to have
increased.
' I will rub his temples,' resumed Sister Hyaeinthe.
' Help me, do ! '
But, at a more violent jolt of the train, the man suddenly
fell from the seat, face downward.
' Ah ! mon Dieu, help me, pick him up ! '
They picked him up, and found him dead. And they had
to seat him in his corner agaia, with his back resting against
the wood- work. He remained there erect, his torso stiffened,
and his head wagging slightly at each successive jolt. Thus
the train continued carrying him along, with the same
thundering noise of wheels, whUe the engine, well pleased, no
doubt, to be reaching its destination, began whistling shrilly,
giving vent to quite a flourish of delirious joy as it sped
through the calm night.
And then came the last and seemingly endless half-hour
of the journey, in company with that wretched corpse. Two
big tears had rolled down Sister Hyacinthe's cheeks, and
with her hands joined she had begun to pray. The whole
carriage shuddered with terror at sight of that terrible com-
panion who was being taken, too late alas ! to the Blessed
Virgin.
Hope, however, proved stronger than sorrow or pain, and
although aU the sufferings there assembled awoke and grew
again, irritated by overwhelming weariness, a song of joynever-
theless proclaimed the sufferers' triumphal entry into the Land
of Miracles. Amidst the tears which their pains drew from
them, the exasperated and howling sick began to chant the
' Ave maris Stella ' with a growing clamour in which
lamentation finally turned into cries of hope.
Marie had again taken Pierre's hand between her little
feverish fingers. ' Oh, mon Dieu ! ' said she, ' to think that
poor man is dead, and I feared so much that it was I
who would die before arriving. And we are there— there at
last ! '
The priest was trembling with intense emotion. ' It
BERNADETTE ibi.'
means that you are to be cured, Marie,' lie replied, ' and that
I myself shall be cured if you pray for me '
The engine was now whistling in a yet louder key in the
depths of the bluey darkness. They were nearing their
destination. The lights of Lourdes already shone out on the
horizon. Then the whole train again sang a canticle — the
rhymed story of Bernadette, that endless ballad of six times
ton couplets, in which the Angelic Salutation ever returns as
a refrain, all besetting and distracting, opening to the human
mind the portals of the heaven of ecstasy : —
" It waa the hour for ev'ning pray'r ;
Soft bells chimed on the chilly air.
Ave, ave,, ave Maria I
The maid stood on the torrent's bank ;
A breeze arose, then swiftly sank.
Ave, ave, ave Maria 1
And she beheld, e'en as it fell,
The Virgin on Massabielle.
Ave, ave, ave Maria 1
All white appeared the Lady chaste,
A zone of Heaven round her waist.
Ave, ave, ave Maria 1
Two golden roses, pure and sweet.
Bloomed brightly on her naked feet.
Ave, ave, ave Maria 1
Upon her arm, all white and round,
Her ohaplet's milky beads were wound.
Ave, ave, ave Maria 1
The maid prayed on tUl from her eyes
The vision sped to Paradise.
Ave, ave, ave Maria 1 "
loa LOURDES
TBE SECOND DAT
THE TEAIN AEEIVES
It was twenty minutes past three by the clock of the Lourdea
railway station, the dial of which was illumined by a reflector.
Under the slanting roof sheltering the platform, a hundred
yards or so in length, some shadowy forms went to and fro,
resignedly waiting. Only a red signal light peeped out of the
black countryside, far away.
Two of the promenaders suddenly halted. The taUer of
them, a Father of the Assumption, none other indeed than
the Eeverend Father Fourcade, director of the national
pilgrimage, who had reached Lourdes on the previous day,
was a man of sixty, looking superb in his black cloak with its
large hood. His fine head, with its clear, domineering eyes
and thick grizzly beard, was the head of a general whom an
intelligent determination to conquer inflames. In conse-
quence, however, of a sudden attack of gout he slightly
dragged one of his legs, and was leaning on the shoulder of
his companion, Dr. Bonamy, the practitioner attached to
the Miracle Verification Office, a short, thickset man, with a
square-shaped, clean-shaven face, which had dull, blurred eyes
and a tranquil cast of features.
Father Fourcade bad stopped to question the station-
master whom he perceived running out of his office. ' WiU
the white train be very late, monsieur ? ' he asked.
' No, your reverence. It hasn't lost more than ten minutes ;
it will be here at the haK-hour. It's the Bayonne train which
worries me ; it ought to have passed through already.'
So saying, he ran off to give an order ; but soon came
back again, his slim, nervous figure displaying marked signs
of agitation. He lived, indeed, in a state of high fever
throughout the period of the great pilgrimages. Apart from
THE TRAIN ARRIVES 103
the usual service, he that day expected eighteen trains, con-
taining more than fifteen thousand passengers. The grey and
the blue trains which had started from Paris the first had
already arrived at the regulation hour. But the delay in the
arrival of the white train was very troublesome, the more so
as the Bayonne express — which passed over the same rails —
had not yet been signalled. It was easy to imderstand there-
fore what incessant watchfulness was necessary, not a second
passing without the entire staff of the station being called
upon to exercise its vigilance.
' In ten miriutes then ? ' repeated Father Poureade.
' Yes, in ten minutes, rmless I'm obliged to close the line ! '
cried the station-master as he hastened iato the telegraph
office.
Father Fourcade and the doctor slowly resumed their
promenade. The thing which astonished them was that no
serious accident had ever happened la the midst of sach a
fearful scramble. In past times especially, the most terrible
disorder had prevailed. Father Fourcade complacently re-
called the first pilgrimage which he had organised and led, in
1875 ; the terrible endless journey without pillows or mat-
tresses, the patients exhausted, half dead, with no means of
reviving them at hand ; and then the arrival at Lourdes, *he
train evacuated in confusion, no mat&rml in readiness, no
straps, nor stretchers, nor carts. But now there was a power-
ful organisation ; a hospital awaited the sick, who were no
longer reduced to lying upon straw in sheds. What a shock
ifor those unhappy ones I What force of will in the man of
faith who led them to the scene of miracles ! The reverend
Father smiled gently at the thought of the work which he had
accomphshed.
Then, still leaning on the doctor's shoulder, he began to
question him : ' How many pilgrims did you have last year ? '
he asked.
' About two hundred thousand. That is still the average.
In the year of the Coronation of the Virgin the figure rose to
five hundred thousand. But to bring that about an excep-
tional occasion was needed with a great effort of propaganda.
Such vast masses cannot be collected together every day.'
A pause followed, and then Father Fourcade murmured :
' No doubt. Still the blessing of Heaven attends our endea-
vours ; our work thrives more and more. We have collected
more than two hundred thousand francs in donations for this
104 LOVRDES
journey, and God will be with us, there will be many cures for
you to proclaim to-morrow, I am sure of it.' Then, breaking
off, he inquired : ' Has not Father Dargel^s come here ? '
Dr. Bonamy waved, his hand as though to say-that he did
not know. Father Dargeles was the editor of the ' Journal de
la Grotte.' He belonged to the Order of the Fathers of the
Immaculate Conception whom the Bishop had installed at
Lourdes and who were the absolute masters there ; though,
when the Fathers of the Assumption came to the town with
the national pilgrimage from Paris, which crowds of faithful
Catholics from . Cambrai, Arras, Chartres, Troyes, Eheims,
Sens, Orleans, Blois, and Poitiers joined, they evinced a kind
of affectation in disappearing from the scene. Their omni-
potence was no longer felt either at the Grotto or at the Basi-
lica ; they seemed to surrender every key together with every
responsibihty. Their superior. Father Capdebarthe, a tall,
peasant-like man, with a knotty frame, a big head which looked
as if it had been fashioned with a bDl-hook, and a worn face
which retained a ruddy mournful reflection of the soil, did not
even show himself. Of the whole community you only saw
Uttle, insinuating Father Dargeles ; but he was met everywhere,
incessantly on the look out for paragraphs for his newspaper.
At the same time, however, although the Fathers of the Im-
maculate Conception disappeared in this fashion, it could be
divined that they were behind the vast stage, like a hidden
sovereign power, coining money and toiling without a pause to
increase the triumphant prosperity of their business. Indeed,
they turned even their humility to account.
' It's true that we have had to get up early — two in the
morning,' resumed Father Fourcade gaily. ' But I wished to
be here. What would my poor children have said indeed if I
had not come ? '
He was alluding to the sick pilgrims, those who were so
much flesh for miracle-workLag ; and it was a fact that he had
never missed coming to the station, no matter what the hour,
to meet that woeful white train, that train which brought such
grievous suffering with it.
_ ' Five-and-twenty minutes past three— only another five
minutes now,' exclaimed Dr. Bonamy, repressing a yawn as he
glanced at the clock ; for, despite his obsequious air, he was at
bottom very much annoyed at having had to get out of bed so
early. However, he continued his slow promenade with Father
THE TRAIN ARRIVES 105
Fourcade along tl;at platform which resembled a covered walk,
pacing up and down in the dense night which the gas jets here
and there illumined with patches of yellow light. Little par-
ties, dimly outlined, composed of priests and gentlemen in
frock coats, with a solitary officer of dragoons, went to and
fro iacessantly, talking together the while in discreet murmur-
ing tones. Other people, seated on benches, ranged along the
station wall, were also chatting or putting their.patience to
proof with their glances wandering away into the black stretch
of country before them. The doorways of the offices and wait-
ing rooms, which were brilliantly lighted, looked like great
holes in the darkness, and all was flaring in the refreshment
room, where you could see the marble tables and the counter
laden with bottles and glasses and baskets of bread and fruit.
On the right hand, beyond the roofing of the platform, there
was a confused swarming of people. There was here a goods
gate, by which the sick were taken out of the station, and a
mass of stretchers, litters, and hand-carts, with piles of pillows
and mattresses obstructed the broad walk. Three parties of
bearers were also assembled here, persons of well-nigh every
class, but more particularly young men of good society, all
wearing red, orange-tipped crosses and straps of yeUow leather.
Many of them too had adopted the Bearnese cap, the conveni-
ent headgear of the region ; and a few, clad as though they
were bound on some distant expedition, displayed wonderful
gaiters reaching to their knees. Some were smoking, whilst
others, installed in their little vehicles, slept or read newspapers
by the light of the neighbouring gas jets. One group, stand-
ing apart, was discussing some service question.
Suddenly however, one and all began to salute. A paternal-
looking man, with a heavy but good-natured face, lighted by
large blue eyes like those of a credulous child, was approach-
ing. It was Baron SuireJ the President of the Hospitality of
Our Lady of Salvation. He possessed a great fortune and
occupied a high position at Toulouse.
' Where is Berthaud ? ' he inquired of one bearer after
another, with a busy air. ' Where is Berthaud ? I must
speak to him.'
The others answered, volunteering contradictory informa-
tion. Berthaud was their Superintendent, and whilst some
said that they had seen him with the Eeverend Father Four-
cade, others affirmed that he must be in the courtyard of the
io6 LOURDES
station inspecting the ambulance vehicles. And they there*
upon offered to go and fetch him.
' No, no, thank you,' replied the Baron. ' I shall manage
to find him myself.'
Whilst this was happening Berthaud, who had just seated
himself on a bench at the other end of the station, was talking
with his young friend Gerard de Peyrelongue, by way of
occupation pending the arrival of the train. The Superinten-
dent of the Bearers was a man of forty, with a broad, regular-
featured, handsome face and carefully trimmed whiskers of a
lawyer-like pattern. Belonging to a militant Legitimist
family and holding extremely reactionary opinions, he had
been Prooureur dela Eepublique (public prosecutor) in a town
of the south of Prance from the time of the parliamentary
revolution of the twenty-fourth of May* untU that of the
decree on the Eeligious Communities,t when he had resigned
his post in a blusterous fashion, by addressing an insulting
letter to the Minister of Justice. And he had never since
laid down his arms, but had joined the Hospitality of Our
Lady of Salvation as a sort of protest, repairing year after
year to Lourdes in order to ' demonstrate ' ; convinced as he
was that the pilgrimages were both disagreeable and hurtful
to the Bepublic, and that God alone could re-establish the
Monarchy by one of those miracles which He worked so
lavishly at the Grotto. Despite all this, however, Berthaud
possessed no small amount of good sense, and being of a gay
disposition displayed a kind of jovial charity towards the poor
sufferers whose transport he had to provide for during the
three days that the national pilgrimage remained at Lourdes.
'And so, my dear G&ard,' he said to the young man
seated beside him, ' your marriage is really to come off this
year ? '
' Why yes, if I can find such a wife as I want,' replied the
other. ' Come, cousin, give me some good advice.'
Gerard de Peyrelongue, a short, tlun, carroty young man,
with a pronounced nose and prominent cheek-bones, belonged
to Tarbes, where his father and mother had lately died, leaving
him at the utmost some seven or eight thousand francs a
year. Extremely ambitions, he had been unable to find such
* The parliamentary revolution o! May 1873 by which M. Thiers was
OTerthrown and Marshal MacMahon installed in his place with the
object of restoring the monarchy in France. — Trans.
\ M. Gravy's decree by which the Jesuits were expelled.— 2V(»W.
THE TRAIN ARRIVES loj
a ■wife as he desired in his native province — a well-connected
young woman capable of helping him to push both forward
and upward in the world ; and so he had joined the Hos-
pitality, and betook himself every summer to Lourdes, in the
vague hope that amidst the mass of beUevers, the torrent of
devout mammas and daughters which flowed thither, he
might find the family whose help he needed to enable him to
make his way in this terrestrial sphere. However, he remained
in perplexity, for if, on the one hand, he already had several
young ladies ia view, on the other, none of them completely
satisfied him.
' Eh, cousin ? You wiU advise me, won't you ? ' he said to
Berthaud. ' You are a man of experience. There is Mademoi-
selle Lemeroier who comes here with her aunt. She is very
rich ; according to what is said she has over a million francs.
But she doesn't belong to our set, and besides I think her a
bit of a madcap.'
Berthaud nodded. ' I told you so ; if I were you I
should choose Uttle Eaymonde, Mademoiselle de Jonqui^re.'
' But she hasn't a copper ! '
' That's true — she has barely enough to pay for her board.
But she is fairly good looking, she has been well brought up,
and she has no extravagant tastes. That is the really im-
portant point, for what is the use of marrying a rich girl if
she squanders the dowry she brings you ? Besides, I know
Madame and Mademoiselle de Jonqui^re very well, I meet
them all through the winter in the most influential drawing
rooms of Paris. And, finally, don't forget the girl's uncle,
the diplomatist, who has had the painful courage to remain
in the service of the Eepublio. He will be able to do whatever
he pleases for his niece's husband.'
For a moment Gerard seemed shaken, and then he
relapsed into perplexity. ' But she hasn't a copper,' he said,
' no, not a copper. It's too stiff. I am quite wilHng to think
it over, but it reaUy frightens me too much.'
This time Berthaud burst into a frank laugh. ' Come,
you are ambitious, so you must be daring. I tell you that it
means the Secretaryship of an embassy before two years are
over. By the way, Madame and Mademoiselle de Jonqui^re
are in the white train which we are waiting for. Make up
your mind and pay your court at once;'
' No, no 1 Later on. I want to think it over.'
At this moment they were interrupted, for Baron Suire,
io5 LOURDES
who had already once gone by without perceiving them, so
completely did the darkness enshroud them in that retired
corner, had just recognised the ex-public prosecutor's good-
naturedlaugh. And, thereupon, with the volubility of a man
whose head is easily unhinged, he gave him several orders
respecting the vehicles and the transport service, deploring
the circumstance that it would be impossible to conduct the
patients to the Grotto immediately on their arrival, as it was
yet so extremely early. It had therefore been decided that
they should in the first instance be taken to the Hospital of
Our Lady of Dolours, where they would be able to rest a
while after their trying journey.
Whilst the Baron and the Superintendent were thug
settling what measures should be adopted Gerard shook
hands with a priest who had sat down beside him. This was
the Abbe Des Hermoises, who was barely eight-and-thirty
years of age and had a superb head — such a head as one
might expect to find on the shoulders of a worldly priest.
With his hair well combed, and his person perfumed, he was
not unnaturally a great favourite among women. Very
amiable and distinguished in his manners, he did not come to
Lourdes in any official capacity, but simply for his pleasure,
as so many other people did ; and the bright, sparkling
smile of a sceptic above all idolatry, gleamed in the depths of
his fine eyes. He certainly believed, and bowed to superior
decisions ; but the Church — the Holy See — had not pro-
nounced itself vrith regard to the miracles ; and he seemed
quite ready to dispute their authenticity. Having lived at
Tarbes he was already acquainted with Gerard.
' Ah ! ' he said to him, ' how impressive it is — isn't it ? —
this waiting for the trains in the middle of the night ! I have
come to meet a lady — one of my former Paris penitents — but
I don't know what train she will come by. Still, as you see,
I stop on, for it aU interests me so much."
Then another priest, an old country priest, having come
to sit down on the same bench, the abb6 considerately began
talking to him, speaking of the beauty of the Lourdes district
and of the theatrical efleet which would take place by-and-by
when the sun rose and the mountains appeared.
, However, there was again a sudden alert, and the station-
master ran along shouting orders. Removing his hand fcom
Dr. Bonamy's shoulder, Father Fouroade, despite hia gouty
l^g, hastily drew near.
THE TRAIN ARRIVES fog
' Oh ! it's that Bayonne express which is so late,!
answered the station-master in reply to the questions ad-
dressed to him. ' I should like some information about it,
I'm not at ease.'
At this moment the telegraph bells rang out and a porter
rushed away into the darkness swinging a lantern, whilst a
distant signal began to work. Thereapon the station-master
resumed : ' Ah ! this time it's the white train. Let us hope
we shall have time to get the sick people out before the express
passes.'
He started off once more and disappeared. Berthaud
meanwhile called to G6rard, who was at the head of a squad
of bearers, and they both made haste to join their men, into
whom Baron Suire was already instilling activity. The
bearers flocked to the spot from all sides, and setting them-
selves in motion began dragging their little vehicles across
the lines to the platform at which the white train would come
in — an unroofed platform plunged in darkness. A mass of
pillows, mattresses, stretchers, and litters was soon waiting
there, whilst Father Fouroade, Dr. Bonamy, the priests, the
gentlemen, and the officer of dragoons in their turn crossed
over in order to witness the removal of the ailing pilgrims.
All that they could as yet see, far away in the depths of the
black country, was the lantern ia front of the engine, looking
like a red star which grew larger and larger. Strident whistles
pierced the night, then suddenly ceased, and you only heard
the panting of the steam and the dull roar of the wheels
gradually slackening their speed. Then the canticle became
distinctly audible, the song of Bernadette with the ever-
recurring ' Aves ' of its refrain, which the whole train was
chanting in chorus. And at last this train of suffering and
faith, this moaning, singing train, thus making its entry into
Lourdes, drew up in the station.
The carriage doors were at once opened, the whole throng
of healthy pUgrims, and of ailing ones able to walk, ahghted,
and streamed over the platform. The few gas lamps cast but
a feeble light on the crowd of poverty-stricken beings clad in
faded garments, and encumbered with all sorts of parcels,
baskets, valises, and boxes. And amidst all the jostling of
this scared flock, which did not know in which direction to
turn to find its way out of the station, loud exclamations were
heard, the shouts of people calling relatives whom they had
lost, mingled with the embraces of others whom relatives or
HO LOVRDES
friends ha3 come to meet. One woman declared With beati-
fical satisfaction, ' I have slept well.' A priest went off carry-
ing his travelling-bag, after wishing a crippled lady ' good
luck I ' Most of them bad the bewildered, weary, yet joyous
appearance of people whom an excursion train sets down at
some unknown station. And such became the scramble and
the confusion in the darkness, that they did not hear the rail-
way employes who grew quite hoarse through shouting
' This way ! this way ! ' in their eagerness to clear the plat-
form as soon as possible.
Sister Hyacinthe had nimbly alighted from her compart-
ment, leaving the dead man in the charge of Sister Claire des
Anges ; and, losing her head somewhat, she ran off to the
cantine-van in the idea that Ferrand would be able to help
her. Fortunately she found Father Foureade in front of the
van and acquainted him with the fatality in a low voice. Re-
pressing a gesture of annoyance, he thereupon called Baron
Suire, who was passing, and began whispering in his ear. The
muttering lasted for a few seconds and then the Baron rushed
off, and clove his way through the crowd with two bearers
carrying a covered litter. In this the man was removed from
the carriage as though he were a patient who had simply
fainted, the mob of pilgrims paying no further attention to
him amidst all the emotion of their arrival. Preceded by
the Baron, the bearers carried the corpse into a goods office,
where they provisionally lodged it behind some barrels ; one
of them, a fair-haired httle fellow, a general's son, remaining
to watch over it.
Meanwhile, after begging Ferrand and Sister Saiat-
Fran9ois to go and wait for her in the courtyard of the
station, near the reserved vehicle which was to take them to
the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, Sister Hyacinthe re-
turned to the railway-carriage and talked of helping her
patients to alight before goiag away. But Marie would not
let her touch her. ' No ! no ! ' said the girl, ' do not trouble
about me. Sister. I shall remain here the last. My father
and Abb6 Froment have gone to the van to fetch the wheels ;
I am waiting for their return ; they know how to fix them,
and they will take me away aU right, you may be sure
of it."
In the same way M. Sabathier and Brother Isidore did
not desire to be moved until the crowd had decreased.
Madame de Jonquike, who had taken charge of La Grivotte,
THE TRAIN ARRIVES in
also promised to see to Madame Vetu's removal in an ambu-
lance vehicle. And thereupon Sister Hyacinth© decided that
she would go off at once so as to get everything ready at the
Hospital. Moreover, she took with her both little Sophie
Couteau and Elise Bouquet, whose face she very carefully
wrapped up. Madame Maze preceded them, whilst Madame
Vincent, carrying her little girl, who was unconscious and
quite white, struggled through the isrowd,. possessed by the
fixed idea of running off as soon as possible and depositing
the child in the Grotto at the feet of the Blessed Virgin.
The mob was now pressing towards the doorway by which
passengers left the station, and to facilitate the egress of all
these people it at last became necessary to open the luggage
gates. The employes, at a loss how to take the tickets, held
out their caps, which a downpour of the little cards
speedily filled. And in the courtyard, a large square court-
yard, skirted on three sides by the low buildings
of the station, the most extraordinary uproar prevailed
amongst all the vehicles of divers kinds which were there
jumbled together. The hotel omnibuses, backed against the
curb of the footway, displayed the most sacred names on their
large boards — Jesus and Mary, St. Michel, the Eosary, and the
Sacred Heart. Then there were ambulance vehicles, landaus,
cabriolets, brakes and httle donkey carts, all entangled
together, with their drivers shouting, swearing, and cracking
their whips — the tumult being apparently increased by the
obscurity in which the lanterns set brilliant patches of
light.
Eain had fallen heavily a few hours previously. Liquid
mud splashed up under the hoofs of the horses ; the foot
passengers sank into it to their ankles. M. Vigneron, whom
Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise were following in a
state of distraction, raised Gustave, in order to place him in
the omnibus from the Hotel of the Apparitions, after which
he himself and the ladies climbed into the vehicle. Madame
Maze, shuddering slightly, hke a delicate tabby who fears to
dirty the tips of her paws, made a sign to the driver of an
old brougham, got into it, and quickly drove away, after
giving as address the Convent of the Blue Sisters. And at
last Sister Hyacinthe was able to install herself with Elise
Bouquet and Sophie Couteau in a large chwr-A-hanGS, in which
Ferrand and Sisters Saint-Fran5ois and Claire des Anges were
already seated. The drivers whipped up their spirited little
112 ' LOURDES
horses, and the vehicles went off at a breakneck pa6e, amidst
the shouts of those left behind, and the splashing of the
mire.
In presence of that rushing torrent, Madame Vincent, vdth
her dear little burden in her arms, hesitated to cross over.
Bursts of laughter rang out around her every now and then.
Oh ! what a filthy mess ! And at sight of all the mud, the
women caught up their skirts before attempting to pass
through it. At last, when the courtyard had somewhat
emptied, Madame Vincent herself ventured on her way, all
terror lest the mire should make her fall in that black
darkness. Then, on reaching a downhill road, she noticed
there a number of women of the locality who were on the
watch, offering furnished rooms, bed and board, according to
the state of the pilgrim's purse.
'Which is the way to the Grotto, madame, if you please ? '
asked Madame Vincent, addressing one old woman of the
party.
Instead of answering the question, however, the other
offered her a cheap room. ' You won't find anything in the
hotels,' she said, ' they are aU full. Perhaps you wUl be able
to eat there, but you certainly won't find a closet even to sleep
in.'
Eat, sleep, indeed ! Had Madame Vincent any thought
of such things ; she who had left Paris with thirty sous in her
pocket, aU. that remained to her after the expenses she had
been put to ?
' "The way to the Grotto, if you please, madame,' she
repeated.
Among the women who were thus touting for lodgers, there
was a tall, well-built girl, dressed like a superior servant,
and looking very clean, with carefully tended hands. She
glanced at Madame Vincent and slightly shrugged her
shoulders. And then, seeing a broad-chested priest with a
red face go by, she rushed after him, offered him a furnished
room, and continued following him, whispering in his
ear.
Another girl, however, at last took pity on Madame
Vincent and said to her : ' Here, go down this road, and
when you get to the bottom, turn to the right and you will
reach the Grotto.'
Meanwhile, the confusion inside the station continued.
The healthy pilgrims, and those of the sick who retained the
THE TRAIN ARRIVES 113
use of their legs could go off, thus, in some measure, clearing
the platform ; but the others, the more grievously stricken
sufferers whom it was difficult to get out of the carriages
and remove to the hospital, remained waiting. The bearers
seemed to become quite bewildered, rushing maclly hither and
thither with their litters and vehicles, not knowing at what
end to set about the profusion of work which lay before
them.
As Berthaud, followed by G6rard, went along the platform
gesticulating, he noticed two ladies and a girl who were
standing under a gas jet and to all appearance waiting. In
the girl he recognised Eaymonde, and with a sign of the hand
he at once stopped his companion. ' Ah ! mademoiselle,'
said he, ' how pleased I am to see you ! Is Madame de Jon-
quiere quite well ? You have made a good journey, I hope ? '
Then without a pause he added : ' This is my friend,
MonsieuiJj^rard de Peyrelongue.'
<•■ — ±taymonde gazed fixedly at the young man with her clear,
smiling eyes. ' Oh ! I already have the pleasure of being
shghtly acquainted with this gentleman,' she said. ' We have
previously met one another at Lourdes.'
Thereupon Gerard, who thought that his cousin Berthaud
was conducting matters too quickly, and was quite resolved
that he would not enter into any hasty engagement, con-
tented iiimself with bowing in a ceremonious way.
' We are waiting for mamma,' resumed Eaymonde. ' She
is extremely busy ; she has to see after some pilgrims who
are very ill.'
At this, little Madame D^sagneaux, with her pretty, light,
wavy-haired head, began to say that it served Madame
de Jonquiere right for refusing her services. She herself
was stamping with impatience, eager to join in the work
and make herself useful, whilst Madame Volmar, silent,
shrinking back as though taking no interest in it at all,
seemed simply desirous of penetrating the darkness, as though
indeed she were seeking somebody with those magnificent
eyes of hers, usually bedimmed, but now shining out like
brasiers.
Just then, however, they were all pushed back. Madame
Dieulafay was being removed from her first-class compart-
ment, and Madame D^sagneaux could not restrain an exclama-
tion of pity. ' Ah ! the poor woman ! '
There conld in fact be no more distressing sight than this
I
114 LOURDES
young woman, encompassed by lusuiy, covered with lace in
her species of cofSn, so wasted that she seemed to be a mere
human shred, deposited on that platform tUl it could be taken
away. Her husband and her sister, both very elegant and very
sad, remained standing near her, whilst a manservant and
maid ran o£f with the valises to ascertain if the carriage which
had been ordered by telegram was in the courtyard. Abbe
Judaine also helped the sufferer ; and when two men at last
took her up he bent over her and wished her au revoir, adding
some kind words which she did not seem to hear. Then as
he watched her removal, he resumed, addressing himself to
Berthaud, whom he knew : ' Ah ! the poor people, if they
could only purchase their dear sufferer's cure. I told them
that prayer was the most precious thing in the Blessed
Virgin's eyes, and I hope that I have myself prayed fer-
vently enough to obtain the compassion of Heaven. Never-
theless they have brought a magnificent gift, a golden lantern
for the Basilica, a perfect marvel, adorned with precious
stones. May the Immaculate Virgin deign to smile upon
it!' _
In this way a great many offerings were brought by the
pilgrims. Some huge bouquets of flowers had just gone by,
together with a kind of triple crown of roses, mounted on
a wooden stand. And the old priest explained that before
leaving the station he wished to secure a banner, the gift of
the beautiful Madame Jousseur, Madame Dieulafay's sister.
Madame de' Jonquiere was at last approaching, however,
and on perceiving Berthaud and Gerard she exclaimed : ' Pray
do go to that carriage, gentlemen — that one, there ! We
want some men very badly. There are three or four sick
persons to be taken out. I am in despair ; I can do nothing
myself.'
Gerard ran off after bowing to Eaymonde, whilst Berthaud
advised Madame de Jonquiere to leave the station VTith her
daughter and those ladies instead of remaining on the plat-
form. Her presence was in nowise necessary, he said ; he
would undertake everything, and within three-quarters of an
hour she would find her patients in her ward at the hospital.
She ended by giving way, and took a conveyance in company
with Eaymonde and Madame D^sagneaus. As for Madame
Volmar, she had at the last moment disappeared, as though
seized with a sudden fit of impatience. The others fancied
that they had seen her approach a strange gentleman with
THE TRAIN ARRIVES 115
the object no doubt of making some inquiry of him. However,
they would of course find her at the hospital,
Berthaud joined GIrard again just as the young man,
assisted by two fellow-bearers, was endeavouring to remove
M. Sabathier from the carriage. It was a difficult task, for
he was very stout and very heavy, and they began to think
that he would never pass through the doorway Of the com-
partment. However, as he had been got in they ought to
be able to get him out ; and indeed when two other bearers
had entered the carriage from the other side, they were at
last able to deposit him on the platform.
The dawn was now appearing, a faint pale dawn; and
the platform presented the woeful appearance of an improvised
ambulance. La Grivotte, who had lost consciousness, lay there
on a mattress pending her removal in a litter ; whilst Madame
Vetu had been seated against a lamp-post, suffering so severely
from another attack of her ailment that they scaijcely dared
to touch her. Some hospitallers, whose hands were gloved,
were with difficulty wheehng their little vehicles in which
were poor, sordid looking women with old baskets at their
feet. Others, with stretchers on which lay the stiffened,
woeful bodies of silent sufferers, whose eyes gleamed with
"anguish, found themselves unable to pass ; but some of the
infirm pilgrims, some unfortunate cripples, contrived to slip
through the ranks, among them a young priest who was lame,
and a little humpbacked boy, one of whose legs had been
amputated, and who, looking like a gnome, managed to drag
himself with his crutches fi:om group to group. Then there
was quite a block aroimd a man who was bent in half, twisted
by paralysis to such a point that he had to be carried on a
chair with his head and feet hanging downward. It seemed
as though hours would be required to clear the platform.
The dismay therefore reached a climax when the station-
master suddenly rushed up shouting : ' The Bayonne express
is signalled. Make haste! make haste! You have only
three minutes left I '
Father Fourcade, who had remained in the midst of the
throng,leaningonDoctorBonamy'sarm,andgailyencouraging
the more stricken, of the sufferers, beckoned to Berthaud and
said to him : ' Finish taking them out of the train ; you will
be able to clear the platform afterwards ! '
The advice was very sensible, and in accordance with it
they finished placing the sufferers on the platform. In
I2
Ii6 LOURDES
Madame de Jonqui^re's carriage Marie now alone remained,
waiting patiently. M. de Guersaint and Pierre had at last
returned to her, bringing the two pairs of wheels by means of
which the box in which she lay was rolled about. And with
Gerard's assistance Pierre in all haste removed the girl from
the train. She was as light as a poor shivering bird, and it
was only the box that gave them any trouble. However, they
soon placed it on the wheels and made the latter fast, and
then Pierre might have rolled Marie away had it not been for
the crowd which hampered him.
' Make haste ! make haste ! ' furiously repeated the station-
master.
He himself lent a hand, taking hold of a sick man by the
feet in order that he might more speedily be got out of a
compartment. And he also pushed the little hand-carts back,
so as to clear the edge of the platform. In a second-class
•carriage, however, there stiU remained one woman who had
just been overpowered by a terrible nervous attack. She was
howling and struggling, and it was impossible to think of
touching her at that moment. But on the other hand the
express, signalled by the incessant tinkling of the electric bells,
was now fast approaching, and they had to close the door
and in all haste shunt the train to the siding where it would
remain for three days, until in fact it was required to convey
its load of sick and healthy passengers back to Paris. As it
went off to the siding the crowd stiU heard the cries of the
suffering woman, whom it had been necessary to leave in it,
in the charge of a Sister, cries which grew weaker and weaker
like those of a strengthless ehUd, whom one at last succeeds
in consoling.
' Good Lord 1 ' muttered the station-master ; ' it was high
time ! '
In fact the Bayonne express was now coming along at
full speed, and the next moment it rushed hke a crash of
thunder past that woeful platform httered with all the
grievous wretchedness of a hospital hastily evacuated. The
litters and little hand-carts were shaken, but there was no
accident, for the porters were on the watch, and pushed from
the line the bewildered flock which was still jostling and
struggling in its eagerness to get away. As soon as the
express had passed, however, circulation was re-established,
and the bearers were at last able to complete the removal of
the aiok with prudent deliberation.
THE TRAIN ARRIVES '117
Little by little the daylight was increasing — a clear dawn
it was, whitening the heavens whose reflection illumined the
earth which was still black. You began to distinguish
things and people clearly.
' Oh, by-and-by ! ' Marie repeated to Pierre, as he en-
deavoured to roll her away. ' Let Us wait till some part of
the crowd has gone.'
Then, looking around, she began to feel interested in a man
of military bearing, apparently some sixty years of age, who
was walking about among the sick pilgrims. With a square-
shaped head and white bushy hair, he would still have
looked sturdy if he had not dragged his left foot, throwing it
inward at each step he took. With the left hand, too, he leant
heavily on a thick walking-stick. When M. Sabathier, who
had visited Lourdes for six years past, perceived him he
became quite gay. ' Ah ! ' said he, ' it is you. Commander ! '
Commander was perhaps the old man's name. But as
he was decorated with a broad red riband, he was possibly
called Commander on account of his decoration, albeit the
latter was that of a mere chevalier. Nobody exactly knew his
story. No doubt he had relatives and children of his own
somewhere, but these matters remained vague and mysterious.
For the last three years he had been employed at the railway-
station as a superintendent in the goods department, a simple
occupation, a Mttle berth which had been given him by favour
and which enabled him to live in perfect happiness. A first
stroke of apoplexy at fifty-five years of age had been followed
by a second one three years later, which had left him slightly
paralysed in the left side. And now he wa,s awaitiug the
third stroke with an air of perfect tranquiUity. As he
himself put it, he was atHihe disposal of death, which might
come for him that night, the next day, or possibly that very
moment. All Lourdes knew him on account of the habit, the
mania he had, at pilgrimage time, of coming to witness the
arrival of the trains, dragging his foot along and leaning upon
his stick, whilst expressing his astonishment and reproaching
the ailing ones for their intense desire to be made whole and
sound again.
This was the third year that he had seen M. Sabathier
arrive, and all his anger fell upon him. ' What 1 you have
come back aqain ! ' he exclaimed. ' Well, you must be desirous
of living this hateful life I But sacrebleu I go and die quietly
n8 LOURDES
in your bed at home. Isn't that the best thing that can
happen to anyone ? '
M. Babathier evinced no anger, but laughed, exhausted
though he was by the handling to which he had been sub-
jected during his removal from the carriage. ' No, no,' said
he, ' I prefer to be cured.'
' To be cured, to be cured. That's what they all ask for.
They travel hundreds of leagues and arrive in fragments,
howUng with pain, and all this to be cured — to go through
every worry and every suffering again. Come, monsieur, you
would be nicely caught if, at your age and with your dilapi-
dated old body, your Blessed Virgin should be pleased to re-
store the use of your legs to you. What would you do with
them, man Dieu ? What pleasure would you find in pro-
longing the abomination of old age for a few years' more?
It's much better to die at once, while you are like that I
Death is happiness ! '
He spoke in this fashion, not as a believer who aspires to
the delicious reward of eternal life, but as a weary man who
expects to fall into nihility, to enjoy the great everlasting
peace of being no more.
Whilst M. Sabathier was gaily shrugging his shoulders as
though he had a child to deal with, Abb6 Judaine, who had
at last secured his banner, came by and stopped for a moment
in order that he might gently scold the Commander, with
whom he also was well acquainted.
'Don't blaspheme, my dear friend,' he said. 'It is an
offence against God to refuse life and to treat health with eon-
tempt. If you yourself had hstened to me, you would have
asked the Blessed Virgin to cure your leg before now.'
At this the Commander became angry. ' My leg ! The
Virgin can do nothing to it ! I'm quite at my ease. May
death come and may it all be over for ever ! When the time
comes to die you turn your face to the wall and you die — it's
simple enough.'
The old priest interrupted him, however. Pointing to
Marie, who was lying on her box listening to them, he ex-
claimed : ' You tell all our sick to go home and die — even
mademoiselle, eh ? She who is full of youiii and wishes to
live.'
Marie's eyes were wide open, burning with the ardent
desire which she felt to be, to enjoy her share of the vast
world; and the Commander, who had drawn near, gazed
THE TRAIN ARRIVES 1 19
upon her, suddenly seized with deep emotion which made his
voice tremhle. ' If mademoiselle gets well,' he said, ' I will
wish her another miracle, that she be happy.'
Then he went off, dragging his foot and tapping the flag-
stones with the ferrule of his stout stick as he continued
wending his way, hke an angry philosopher, among the suf-
fering pilgrims.
Little by little, the platform was at last cleared. Madame
Vetu and La Grivotte were carried away, and Gerard removed
M. Sabathier in a httle cart, whilst Baron Suire and Ber-
thaud abeady began giving orders for the green train, which
would be the next one to arrive. Of all the ailing pilgrims
the only one now remaining at the station was Marie, of whom
Pierre jealously took charge. He had already dragged her
into the courtyard when he noticed that M. de Guersaint had
disappeared ; but a moment later he perceived him convers-
ing with the Abb6 Des Hermoises, whose acquaintance he had
just made. Their admiration of the beauties of nature had
brought them together. The daylight had now appeared, and
the surrounding mountains displayed themselves in aU their
majesty.
' What a lovely country, monsieur ! ' exclaimed M. da
Guersaint. ' I have been wishing to see the Cirque de Gavar-
nie for thirty years past. But it is some distance away and
the trip must be an expensive one, so that I fear I shall not
be able to make it.'
' You are mistaken, monsieur,' said the Abb^ ; ' nothing
is more easily managed. By making up a party the expense
becomes very slight. And as it happens, I wish to return
there this year, so that if you would like to join us '
' Oh, certainly, monsieur. We will speak of it again. A
thousand thanks,' replied M. de Guersaint.
His daughter was now calling him however, and he joined
her after taking leave of the Abb6 in a very cordial manner.
Pierre had decided that he would drag Marie to the Hospital
so as to spare her the pain of transference to another vehicle.
But as the omnibuses, landaus, and other conveyances were
already coming back, again filling the courtyard in readiness
for the arrival of the next train, the young priest had some
difficulty in reaching the road with the little chariot whose
low wheels sank deeply in the mud. Some police agents
charged with maintaining order were cursing that fearful
mire which splashed their boots ; and indeed it was only the
I2q ■ LOURDES
touts, the young and old wotnen who had rooms to let, who
laughed at the paddles, which they crossed and crossed again
in every direction, pursuing the last pilgrims that emerged from
the station.
When the little car had begun to roll more easily over the
sloping road Marie suddenly inquired of M. de Guersaint,
who was walking near her : '-What day of the week is it,
father ? '
' Saturday, my darling.'
' Ah ! yes, Saturday, the day of the Blessed Virgin. Is it
to-day that she will cure me ? '
Then she began thinking again ; while, at some distance
behind her, two bearers came furtively down the road, with a
covered stretcher in which lay the corpse of the man who
had died iu the train. They had gone to take it from behind
the barrels in the goods office, and were now conveyiug it to
a secret spot of which Father Fourcade had told them.
n
HOSPITAIi AND GEOTTO
Built, so far as it extends, by a charitable Canon, and left
uniinished through lack of money, the Hospital of Our Lady
of Dolours is a vast pile, four storeys high, and consequently
far too lofty, since it is difficult to carry the sufferers to the
topmost wards. As a rule the building is occupied by a hun-
dred infirm and aged paupers ; but at the season of the
national pilgrimage these old folks are for three days sheltered
elsewhere, and the hospital is let to the Fathers of the
Assumption, who at times lodge in it as many as five and six
hundred patients. StUl, however closely packed they may be,
the accommodation never suffices, so that the three or four
hundred remaining sufferers have to be distributed between
the Hospital of Salvation and the town hospital, the men being
sent to the former and the women to the latter institution. "
That morning at sunrise great confusion prevailed in the
sand-covered courtyard of Our Lady of Dolours, at the door
of which a couple of priests were mounting guard. The
temporary staff, with its formidable supply of registers, cards,
and printed formulas, had installed itself in one of the ground-
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 121
floor rooms on the previous day. The managers were desirous
of greatly improving upon the organisation of the preceding
year. The lower wards were this time to be reserved to the
most helpless sufferers ; and in order to prevent a repetition
of -the cases of mistaken identity which had occurred in the
past, very great care was to be taken in filling in and dis-
tributing the admission cards, each of which bore the name of
a ward and the number of a bed. It became difficult, how-
ever, to act in accordance with these good intentions in
presence of the torrent of ailing beings which the white train
had brought to Lourdes, and the new formalities so com-
plicated matters that the patients had to be deposited iu the
com:tyard as they arrived, to wait there until it became possi-
ble to admit them in something like an orderly manner. It
was the unpacking of the station over again, the same woeful
camping in the open, whilst the bearers and the young
seminarists who acted as the secretary's assistants ran hither
and thither in bewilderment.
' We have been over-ambitious, we wanted to do things too
well ! ' exclaimed Baron Suire in despair.
There was much truth in his remark, for never had a
greater number of useless precautions been taken, and they
now discovered that, by some iuexpUcable error, they had
allotted not the lower but the higher placed wards to the
patients whomit was most difficult to move. It was impossible
to begin the classification afresh, however, and so as in former
years things must be allowed to take their course, in a hap-
hazard way. The distribution of the cards began, a young ,
priest at the same time entering each patient's name and
address ia a register. Moreover, all the hospitalisation cards
bearing the patients' names and numbers had to be produced,
so that the names of the wards and the numbers of the beds
might be added to them ; and aU these formalities greatly pro-
tracted the dijiU.
Then there was endless comiag and going from the top to
the bottom of the building, and from one to the other end of
each of its four floors. M. Sabathier was one of the first to
secure admittance, being placed in a ground-floor room which
was known as the Family Ward. Sick men were there
allowed to have their wives with them ; but to the other wards
of the hospital only women were admitted. Brother Isidore,
it is true, was accompanied by his sister ; however, by a spe-
cial favour it was agreed that they should be considered as
122 LOVRDES
conjoints, and the missionary was accordingly placed in the
bed next to that allotted to M. Sabathier. The chapel, still
littered with plaster and with its unfinished windows
boarded up, was close at hand. There were also various
wards in an unfinished state ; still these were fiUed with mat-
tresses, on which sufferers were rapidly placed. All those who
could walk, however, were already besieging the refectory, a
long gallery whose broad windows looked into an inner
courtyard ; and the Saint-Frai Sisters, who managed the hos-
pital at other times, and had remained to attend to the cook-
ing, began to distribute bowls of coffee and chocolate among
the poor women whom the terrible journey had exhausted.
' Best yourselves and try to gain a little strength,' repeated
Baron Suire, who was ever on the move, showing himself here,
there and everywhere in rapid succession. * You have three
good hours before you, it is not yet five, and their reverences
have given orders that you are not to be taken to the Grotto
until eight o'clock, so as to avoid any excessive fatigue.
Meanwhile, up above on the second floor, Madame de
JonquiSre had been one of the first to take possession of the
Sainte-Honorine Ward of which she was the superintendent.
She had been obUged to leave her daughter Eaymonde down-
stairs, for the regulations did not allow young girls to enter
the wards where they might have witnessed sights that were
scarcely proper or else far too horrible for such eyes as theirs.
Baymonde had therefore remained in the refectory as a helper,
but little Madame Ddsagneaux, in her capacity as a lady-
hospitaller, had not left the superintendent, and was already
asking her for orders in her delight that she should at last
be able to render some assistance.
' Are all these beds properly made, madame ? ' she
inquired ; ' perhaps I had better make them afresh with Sister
Hyacinthe.'
The ward, whose walls were painted a light yellow, and
whose few windows admitted but little light from an inner
yard, contained fifteen beds, standing in two rows against the
walls.
'We will see by-and-by,' replied Madame de Jonquiere
with an absorbed air. She was busy counting the beds and
examining the long narrow apartment. And this accom-
plished she added in an undertone : ' I shall never have room
enough. They say that I must accommodate twenty-three
patients. We shall have to put some mattresses down.'
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO X23
Sister Hyacinthe, who had followed the ladies after leaving
Bister Saint-FranQois and Sister Claire des Anges in a small
adjoining apartment which was being transformed into a linen
room, then began to lift up the coverlets and examine the
bedding. And she promptly reassured Madame D6sagneaux
with regard to her surmises. ' Oh 1 the beds are properly
made,' she said ; ' everything is very clean too. One can see
that the Saint-Prai Sisters have attended to things themselves.
The reserve mattresses are in the next room, however, and
if madame will lend me a hand we can place some of them
between the beds at once.
' Oh, certainly ! ' exclaimed young Madame Desagneaux,
quite excited by the idea of carrying mattresses with her weak
slender arms.
It became necessary for Madame de JonquiSre to calm her.
' By-and-by,' said the lady- superintendent ; ' there is no hurry.
Let us wait till our patients arrive. I don't much like this
ward, it is so difficult to air. Last year I had the Sainte-
Eosalie Ward on the first floor. However, we will organise
matters, all the same.'
Some other lady-hospitallers were now arriving, quite a
hiveful of busy bees, all eager to start on their work. The
confusion which so often arose was, in fact, increased by the
excessive number of nurses, women of the aristocracy and
upper middle class, with whose fervent zeal some Httle vanity
was blended. There were more than two hundred of them,
and as each had to make a donation on joining the Hospitality
of Our Lady of Salvation, the managers did not dare to refuse
any appHcants, for fear lest they might check the flow of
almsgiving. Thus the number of the lady-hospitallers in-
creased year by year. Fortunately there were some among
them who cared for nothing beyond the privilege of wearing
the red cloth cross, and who started off on excursions as soon'
as they reached Lourdes. Still it must be acknowledged that
those who devoted themselves were really deserving, for they
underwent five days of avrful fatigue, sleeping scarcely a
couple of hours each night and living in the midst of the most
terrible and repugnant spectacles. They witnessed the death
agonies, dressed the pestilential sores, cleaned up, changed
linen, turned the sufferers over in their beds, went through a
sickening and overwhelming labour to which they were in no
wise accustomed. And thus they emerged from it aching all
124 LOURDES
over, tired to death, with feverish eyes flaming with the joy of
the charity which so excited them.
' And Madame Vohnar ? ' suddenly asked Madame Des-
agneaux. ' I thought we should find her here.'
This was apparently a suhjeet which Madame de Jon-
quike did not care to have discussed ; for, as though she
were aware of the truth and wished to bury it in silence, with
the indulgence of a woman who compassionates human
wretchedness, she promptly retorted : ' Madame Volmar isn't
strong, she must have gone to the hotel to rest. We must let
her sleep.'
Then she apportioned the beds among the ladies present,
allotting two to each of them ; and this done they all finished
taking possession of the place, hastening up and down and
backwards and forwards in order to ascertain where the
ofiices, the linen-room, and the kitchens were situated,
' Aiid the dispensary ? ' then asked one of the ladies.
But there was no dispensary. There was no medical
staff even. What would have been the use of any ? — since the
patients were those whom science had given up, despairing
creatures who had come to beg of God the cure which power-
less men were imable to promise them. Logically enough,
all treatment was suspended during the pilgrimage. li a
patient seemed likely to die, extreme unction was administered.
The only medical man about the place was the young doctor
who had come by the white train with his little medicine
chest ; and his intervention was limited to an endeavour to
assuage the sufferings of those patients who chanced to ask
for him during an attack.
As it happened, Sister Hyacinthe was just bringing
Ferrand, whom Sister Saint-Fran9ois had kept with her in a
closet near the linen-room which he proposed to make his
quarters. ' Madame,' said he to Madame de Jonquiere, ' I
am entirely at your disposal. In case of need you will only
have to ring for me.'
She barely listened to him, however, engaged as she was
in a quarrel with a young priest belonging to the manage-
ment with reference to a deficiency of certain utensUs.
' Certainly, monsieur, if we should need a soothing draught,'
she answered, and then, reverting to her discussion, she went
on : ' Well, Monsieur I'Abbe, you must certainly get me four
or five more. How can we possibly manage with so few ?
Things are bad enough as it is.'
HOSPITAL AND. GROTTO 135
Ferrand looked and listened, quite bewildered by the
extraordinary behaviour of the people amongst whom he had
been thrown by chance since the previous day. He who did
not believe, who was only present out of friendship and
charity, was amazed at this extraordinary scramble of wretch-
edness and suffering rushing towards the hope of happiness.
And, as a medical man of the new school, he was altogether
upset by the careless neglect of precautions, the contempt
which was shown for the most simple teachings of science,
in the certainty which was apparently felt that, if Heaven
should so will it, cure would supervene, sudden and resound-
ing like a lie given to the very laws of nature. But if this
were the case, what was the use of that last concession to
human prejudices — why engage a doctor for the j ourney if none
were wanted ? At this thought the young man returned to
his little room, experiencing a vague feeling of shame as he
realised that Ms pi^esenee was useless, and even a trifle
ridiculous.
' Get some opium pills ready all the same;' said Sister
Hyacinthe, as she went back with him as far as the Hnen
room. ' You will be asked for some, for I feel anxious about
some of the patients.'
While speaking she looked at hiin with her large blue
eyes, so gentle and so kind, and ever lighted by a divine
smile. The constant exercise which she gave herself brought
the rosy flush of her quick blood to her skin all dazzling
with youthfulness. And like a good friend who was willing
that he should share the work to which she gave her heart,
she added : ' Besides, if I should need somebody to get a
patient in or out of bed, you wDl help me, won't you ? '
Thereupon, at the idea that he might be of use to her, he
was pleased that he had come and was there. In his mind's
eye, he again beheld her at his bedside, at the time when he
had so narrowly escaped death, nursing him with fraternal
hands, with the smiling, compassionate grace of a sexless
angel, in whom there was something more than a comrade,
something of a woman left. However, the thought never
occurred to him that there was religion, belief behind
her.
' Oh ! I will help you as much as you like, Sister,' he
replied. ' I belong to you, I shall be so happy to serve you.
You know very well what a debt of gratitude I have to pay
you.'
126 LOURDES
In a pretty way she raised her finger to her lip so as to
silence him. Nobody owed her anything. She was merely
the servant of the ailing and the poor.
At this moment a first patient was making her entry into
the Sainte-Honorine Ward. It was Marie, lyingin her wooden
box, which Pierre, with Gerard's assistance, had just brought
upstairs. The last to start from the railway station, she
had secured admission before the others, thanks to the end-
less complications which, after keeping them all in suspense,
now freed them according to the chance distribution of the
admission cards. M. de Guersaint had quitted his daughter
at the hospital door by her own desire ; for, fearing that the
hotels would be very fuU, she had wished him to secure two
rooms for himself and Pierre at once. Then, on reaching the
ward, she felt so weary that, after venting her chagrin at not
being immediately taken to the Grotto, she consented to be
laid on a bed for a short time.
' Come, my child,' repeated Madame de JonquiSre, ' you
have three hours before you. We will put you to bed. It
will ease you to take you out of that case.'
Thereupon the lady-superintendent raised her by the
shoulders, whilst Sister Hyacinthe held her feet. The bed
was in the central part of the ward, near a window. For a
moment the poor girl remained on it with her eyes closed, aa
though exhausted by being moved about so much. Then it
became necessary that Pierre should be readmitted, for she
grew very fidgety, saying that there were things which she
must explain to him.
' Pray don't go away, my friend,' she exclaimed when he
approached her. ' Take the case out on to the landing, but stay
there, because I want to be taken down as soon as I can get
permission.'
' Do you feel more comfortable now ? ' asked the young
priest.
'Yes, no doubt^but I really don't know. I so much
want to be taken yonder, to the Blessed Virgin's feet.'
However, when Pierre had removed the ease, the successive
arrivals of the other patients suppUed her with some little
diversion. Madame Vetu, whom two bearers had brought
upstairs, holding her under the arms, was laid, fully dressed,
on the next bed, where she remained motionless, scarcely
breathing, with her heavy, yellow, cancerous mask. None
of the patients, it should be mentioned, were divested of
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 127
their clothes, they were simply stretched out on the beds, and
advised to go to sleep if they could manage to do so. Those
whose complaiuts were less grievous contented themselves
with sitting down on their mattresses, chatting together, and
putting the things they had brought with them in order.
For instance, Elise Eouquet, who was also near Marie, on the
other side of the latter's bed, opened her basket to take a clean
fichu out of it, and seemed sorely annoyed at having no hand-
glass with her. In less than ten minutes all the beds were
occupied, so that when La Grivotte appeared, half carried by
Sister Hyaointhe and Sister Claire des Anges, it became
necessary to place some mattresses on the floor.
' Here 1 here is one,' exclaimed Madame Dfisagneaux ;
' she will be very well here, out of the draught from the
door.'
Seven other mattresses were soon added in a line, occupying
the space between the rows of beds, so that it became difficult
to move about. One had to be very careful, and follow
narrow pathways which had been left between the beds and
the mattresses. Each of the patients had retained possession
of her parcel, or box, or bag, and round about the improvised
shakedowns were piles of poor old things, sorry remnants of
garments, straying among the sheets and the coverlets. You
might have thought yourself in some woeful ambulance,
hastily organised after some great catastrophe, some confla-
gration or earthquake which had thrown hundreds of
wounded and penniless beings into the streets.
Madame de Jonquiere made her way from one to the othar
end of the ward, ever and ever repeating, ' Come, my children,
don't excite yourselves ; try to sleep a little.'
However, she did not succeed in calming them, and indeed,
she herself, like the other lady-hospitallers under her orders,
. increased the general fever by her own bewilderment. The
linen of several patients had to be changed, and there were
other needs to be attended to. One woman, suffering from an
ulcer in the leg, began moaning so dreadfully that Madame
D^sagneaux undertook to dress her sore afresh ; but she was
not skilful, and despite all her passionate courage she almost
fainted, so greatly was she distressed by the unbearable
odour. Those patients who were in better health asked for
broth, bowlsful of which began to circulate amidst the calls,
the answers, and the contradictory orders which nobody
executed. And meanwhile, let loose amidst this frightful
128 LOURDES
scramble, little Sophie Couteau, who remained with the
Sisters, and was very gay, imagined that it was playtime,
and ran, and jumped, and hopped in turn, called and petted
first by one and then by another, dear as she was to all ahke
for the miraculous hope which she brought them.
However, amidst this agitation, the hours went by.
Seven o'clock had just struck when Abb6 Judaine came in. He
was the chaplain of the Sainte-Honorine Ward, and only the
difficulty of finding an unoccupied altar at which he might say
his mass had delayed his arrival. As soon as he appeared, a
cry of impatiinee arose from every bed.
' Oh ! Monsieur le Cur6, let us start, let us start at
once ! '
An ardent desire, which each passing minute heightened
and irritated, was upbuoying them, like a more and more
devouring thirst, which only the waters of the miraculous
fountain could appease. And more fervently than any of the
others La Grivotte, sitting up on her mattress, and joining her
hands, begged and begged that she might be taken to the
Grotto. Was there not a beginning of the miracle in this —
in this awakening of her wiU power, this feverish desire for
cure which enabled her to set herself erect ? Inert and faint-
ing on her arrival, she was now seated, turning her dark
glances in aU directions, waiting and watching for the happy
moment when she would be removed. And colour also was
returning to her Uvid face. She was already resuscitating.
' Oh ! Monsieur le Cur6, pray do tell them to take me— I
feel that I shall be cured,' she exclaimed.
With a loving, fatherly smUe on his good-natured face,
Abb6 Judaine listened to them all, and allayed their impatience
with kind words. They would soon set out ; but they must be
reasonable, and allow sufficient time for things to be organised ;
and besides, the Blessed Virgin did not like to have violence
done her ; she bided her time, and distributed her divine
favours among those who behaved themselves the best.
As he paused before Marie's bed and beheld her, stammer-
ing entreaties with joined hands, he again paused. ' And you,
too, my daughter, you are in a hurry?' he said. 'Be easy,
there is grace enough in heaven for you all.'
' I am dying of love, father,' she murmured in reply.
' My heart is so swollen with prayers, it stifles me '
He was greatly touched by the passion of this poor
emaciated child, bo harshly stricken in her youth and beauty,
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 129
and wishing to appease her, he called her attention to Madame
Vetu, who did not move, though with her eyes wide open
she stared at all who passed.
' Look at madame, how quiet she is ! ' he said. ' She ia
meditating, and she does right to place herself in God's hands,
like a little child.'
However, in a scarcely audible voice, a mere breath,
Madame Vetu stammered : ' Oh ! I am suffering, I am
suffering.'
At last, at a quarter to eight o'clock, Madame de
Jonquiere warned her charges that they would do well to pre-
pare themselves. She herself, assisted by Sister Hyacinthe
and Madame D^sagneaux, buttoned several dresses, and put
shoes on impotent feet. It was a real toilette, for they all
desired to appear to the greatest advantage before the Blessed
Virgin. A large number had sufficient sense of delicacy to
wash their hands. Others unpacked their parcels, and put
on clean linen. On her side, Bhse Eouquet had ended by
discovering aHttle pocket- glass in the hands of a woman near
her, a huge, dropsical creature, who was very coquettish ;
and having borrowed it, she leant it against the bolster,
and then, with infinite care, began to fasten her fichu
as elegantly as possible about her head, in order to hide her
distorted features. Meanwhile, erect in front of her, little
Sophie watched her with an air of profound interest.
It was Abbd Judaine who gave the signal for starting on
the journey to the Grotto. He wished, he said, to accompany
his dear suffering daughters thither, whilst the lady-hos-
pitaUers and the Sisters remained in the ward, so as to put
things in some little order again. Then the ward was at once
emptied, the patients being carried downstairs amidst renewed
tuinult. And Pierre having replaced Marie's box upon its
wheels, took the first place in the cortige which was formed
of a score of little hand-carts, bath-chairs and litters.
The other wards, however, were also emptying, the courtyard
became crowded, and the difiU was organised in haphazard
fashion. There was soon an interminable train, descending
the rather steep slope of the Avenue de la Grotte, so that
Pierre was already reaching the Plateau de la Merlasse when
the last stretchers were barely leaving the precincts of the
hospital.
It was eight o'clock, and the sun, already high, a
triumphant August sun, was flaming in the great sky, which
130 LOURDES
was beautifully clear. It seemed as if the blue of the atmo-
sphere, cleansed by the storm of the previous night, were quite
new, fresh with youth. And the frightful difiU, a perfect
' Cour des Miracles ' of human woe, rolled along the sloping
pavement amid all the brilliancy of that radiant morning.
There was no end to the train of abominations, it appeared to
grow longer and longer. No order was observed, ailments of
all kinds were jumbled together ; it seemed like the clearing
of some inferno where the most monstrous maladies, the
rare and awful cases which provoke a shudder, had been
gathered together. Eczema, roseola, elephantiasis presented
a long array of doleful victims. Well-nigh vanished diseases
reappeared ; one old woman was affected with leprosy,
another was covered with impetiginous lichen like a tree
which has rotted in the shade. Then came the dropsical
ones, inflated Uke wine-skins; and beside some stretchers
dangled hands twisted by rheumatism, while from others
protruded feet swollen by oedema beyond all recognition,
looking, in fact, like bags stuffed full of rags. One woman,
suffering from hydrocephalus, sat in a little cart, the dolorous
motions of her head bespeaking her grievous malady. A tall
girl afflicted with chorea — St. Vitus's dance — was dancing
with every limb, without a pause, the left side of her faco
being continually distorted by sudden, convulsive grimaces.
A younger one, who followed, gave vent to a bark, a kind of
plaintive animal cry, eaqh time that the tic douloureux which
was torturing her twisted her mouth and her right cheek,
which she seemed to throw forward. Next came the con-
sumptives, trembUng with fever, exhausted by dysentery,
wasted to skeletons, with livid skins, recalling the colour of
that earth in which they would soon be laid to rest ; and
there was one among them who was quite white, with flaming
eyes, who looked indeed like a death's head in which a torch
had been lighted. Then every deformity of the contractions
followed in succession — twisted trunks, twisted arms, necks
askew, all the distortions of poor creatures whom nature had
warped and broken ; and among these was one whose
right hand was thrust back behind her ribs whilst her head
fell to the left resting fixedly upon her shoulder. Afterwards
came some poor rachitic girls displaying waxen complexions
and slender necks eaten away by sores, and yellow-faced
women in the painful stupor which falls on those whose
bosoms are devoured by cancers ; whilst others, lying down
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 131
with their mournful eyes gazing heavenwards, seemed to be
listening to the throbs of the tumours which obstructed their
organs. And still more and more went by ; there was always
something more frightful to come, this woman following that
other one increased the general shudder of horror. From the
neck of a girl of twenty who had a crushed, flattened head
like a toad's, there hung so huge a goitre that it fell even to
her waist like the bib of an apron. A bhnd woman walked
along, her head erect, her face pale like marble, displaying the
acute inflammation of her poor ulcerated eyes. An aged
woman stricken with imbecility, afflicted with dreadful facial
disfigurements, laughed aloud with a terrifying laugh. And
all at once an epileptic was seized with convulsions, and
began foaming on her stretcher, without, however, causing
any stoppage of the procession, which never slackened its
march, lashed onward as it was by the blizzard of feverish
passion which impelled it towards the Grotto.
The bearers, the priests, and the ailing ones themselves
had just intonated a canticle, the song of Bernadette, and all
rolled along amid the besetting ' Aves,' so that the little carts,
the litters, and the pedestrians descended the sloping road
like a swollen and overflowing torrent of roaring water. At
the corner of the Bue Saint- Joseph, near the Plateau de la
Merlasse, a family of excursionists, who had come from
Cauterets or Eagn^res, stood at the edge of the footway over-
come with profound astonishment. These people were
evidently well-to-do bourgeois, the father and mother very
correct in appearance and demeanour, while their two big
girls, attired in light-coloured dresses, had the smihng faces of
happy creatures who are amusing themselves. But their first
feeling of surprise was soon followed by terror, a growing
terror, as if they here beheld the opening of some pesthouse of
ancient times, some hospital of the legendary ages, evacuated
after a great epidemic. The two girls at last became quite
pale, while the father and the mother felt icy cold in presence
of that endless d&fiU of so many horrors, the pestilential
emanations of which were blown full in their faces. 0 God I
to think that such hideousness, such filth, such suffering,
should exist! Was it possible — under that magnificently
radiant sun, under those broad heavens so full of light and
joy, whither the freshness of the Gave's waters ascended, and
the breeze of morning wafted the pure perfumes of the
mountains 1
E 2
132 LOVRDES
When Pierre, at the head of the ccrUgA, reached the
Plateau de la Merlasse, he found himself immersed in that
clear sunlight, that fresh and balmy air. He turned, round
and smiled affectionately at Marie ; and as they came out on
the Place du Eosaire in the morning splendour, they were
both enchanted with the lovely panorama which spread around
them.
In front, on the east, was Old Lourdes, lying in a broad
fold of the ground beyond a rock. The sun was rising behind
the distant mountains, and its oblique rays clearly outlined the
dark lilac mass of that solitary rock, which was crowned by
the tower and crumbling walls of the ancient castle, once the
redoubtable key of the seven valleys. Through the dancing,
golden dust you discerned little of the ruined pile except some
stately outlines, some huge blocks of building which looked
as though reared by Cyclopean hands ; and beyond the rock
you but vaguely distinguished the discoloured, intermingled
house roofs of the old town. Nearer in than the castle,
however, the new town — the rich and noisy city which had
sprung up in a few years as though by miracle — spread out
on either hand, displaying its hotels, its stylish shops, its
lodging-houses all with snow white fronts smiling amidst
patches of greenery. Then there was the Gave flowing along
at the base of the rock, rolling clamorous, clear v?aters, now
blue and now green, now deep as they passed under the old
bridge, and now leaping as they careered under the new one,
which the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception had built
in order to connect the Grotto with the railway station and
the recently opened Boulevard. And as a background to this
delightful picture, this fresh water, this greenery, this gay,
scattered, rejuvenated town, the little and the big Gers arose,
two huge ridges of bare rock and low herbage, which, in the
projected shade that bathed them, assumed delicate tints of
pale mauve and green, fading softly into pink.
Then, upon the norths on the right bank of the Gave,
beyond the hills followed by the railway line, the heights of
Le Buala ascended, their wooded slopes radiant in the
morning light. On that side lay Bartres. More to the left
arose the Serre de Julos, dominated by the Miramont.
Other crests, far off, faded away into the ether. And in the
foreground, rising in tiers among the grassy valleys beyond
the Gave, a number of convents, which seemed to have sprung
up in this region of prodigies like early vegetation, imparted
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 133
Bome measure of life to the landscape. First, there was an
Orphan Asylum founded by the Sisters of Nevers, whose vast
buildings shone brightly in the sunlight. Next came the
Carmelite convent, on the highway to Pau, just in front of the
Grotto ; and then that of the Assumptionists higher up,
skirting the road to Poueyferre ; whilst the Dominicans
showed but a corner of their roofs, sequestered in the far-
away solitude. And at last appeared the establishment of
the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, those who were
called the Blue Sisters, and who had founded at the far-
end of the valley a home where they received well-to-do lady
pilgrims, desirous of solitude, as boarders.
At that early hour aU the bells of these convents were
pealing joyfully in the crystalline atmosphere, whilst ijie
bells of other convents, on the other, the southern horizon,
answered them with the same silvery strains of joy. The bell
of the nunnery of Saint Clarissa, near the old bridge, rang a
scale of gay, clear notes, which one might have fancied to be
the chirruping of a bird. And on this side of the town, also,
there were valleys that dipped down between the ridges, and
mountains that upreared their bare sides, a commingling of
smiling and of agitated nature, an endless surging of heights
amongst which you noticed those of Visens, whose slopes the
sunlight tinged ornately with soft blue and carmine of a
rippling, moire-like effect.
However, when Marie and Pierre turned their eyes to the
west, they were quite dazzled. The sun rays were here stream-
ing on the large and the little Beout with their cupolas of
unequal height. And on this side the background was one of
gold and purple, a dazzling mountain on whose sides one could
only discern the road which snaked between the trees on its
way to the Calvary above. And here, too, against the sunlit
background, radiant like an aureola, stood out the three
superposed churches which at the voice of Bemadette had
sprung from the rock to the glory of the Blessed Virgin.
First of all, down below, came the church of the Eosary,
squat, circular, and half cut out of the rock, at the further end
of an esplanade on either side of which, like two huge arms,
were colossal gradient ways, ascending gently to the Crypt
Church. Vast labour had been expended here, a quarryful
of stones had been cut and set in position, there were arches
as lofty as naves supporting the gigantic terraced avenues
which had been constructed so as to allow the processions to
134 LOURDES
roll along in all their pomp, and the little conveyances con-
taining sick children to ascend without hindrance to the divine
presence. Then came the Crypt, the subterranean church
■within the rock, with only its low door visible above the
church of the Eosary, whose paved roof, with its vast prome-
,nade, formed a continuation of the terraced inclines. And at
last, from the summit sprang the Basilica, somewhat slender
and frail, recaUing some finely chased jewel of the Renas-
cence, and looking very new and very white — like a prayer, a
spotless dove, soaring aloft from the rocks of Massabielle. The
spire, which appeared the more delicate and slight when com-
pared with the gigantic inclines below, seemed like the little
vertical flame of a taper set in the midst of the vast landscape,
those endless waves of valleys and mountains. By the side,
too, of the dense greenery of the Calvary hill, it looked fragile
and candid, like childish faith ; and at sight of it you instinc-
tively thought of the httle white arm, the little thin hand of
the puny girl, who had here pointed to Heaven in the crisis
of her human sufferings. You could not see the Grotto, the
entrance of which was on the left, at the base of the rock.
Beyond the Basihca, the only buildings which caught the eye
were the heavy square pile where the Fathers of the Immacu-
late Conception had their abode, and the episcopal palace,
standing much farther away, in a spreading, wooded valley.
And the three churches were flaming in the morning
glow, and the rain of gold scattered by the sun rays was
sweeping the whole countryside, whilst the flying peals
of the bells seemed to be the very vibration of the light,
the musical awakening of the lovely day that was now be-
ginning.
Whilst crossing the Place du Eosaire, Pierre and Marie
glanced at the Esplanade, the pubUc walk with its long cen-
tral lawn skirted by broad parallel paths and extending as far
as the new bridge. Here, with face turned towards the
Basihca, was the great crowned statue of the Virgin. All the
sufferers crossed themselves as they went by. And still
passionately chanting its canticle, the fearful cortege rolled on,
through nature in festive array. Under the dazzling sky, past
the mountains of gold and purple, amidst the centenarian
trees, symbohcal of health, the running waters whose fresh-
ness was eternal, that cortige still and ever marched on with
its sufferers, whom nature, if not God, had condemned, those
who were afiSicted with skin diseases, those whose flesh waa
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 135
eaten away, those who were dropsical and inflated like wine-
skins, and those whom rheumatism and paralysis had twisted
into postures of agony. And the victims of hydrocephalus
followed, with the dancers of St. Vitus, the consumptives, the
rickety, the epileptics, the cancerous, the goitrous, the blind,
the mad, and the idiotic. ' Ave, ave, ave, Maria ! ' they sang ;
and the stubborn plaint acquired increased volume, as nearer
and nearer to the Grotto it bore that abominable torrent of
human wretchedness and pain, amidst aU the fright and
horror of the passers-by, who stopped short, unable to stir,
their hearts frozen as this nightmare swept before their
eyes.
Pierre and Marie were the first to pass under the lofty
arcade of one of the terraced inclines. And then, as they
followed the quay of the Gave, they all at once came upon the
Grotto. And Marie, whom Pierre wheeled as near to the
railing as possible, was only able to raise herself in her little
conveyance, and murmur : ' 0 most Blessed Virgin, Virgin
most loved ! '
She had seen neither the entrances to the piscinas nor the
twelve-piped fountain, which she had just passed ; nor did
she distinguish any better the shop on her left hand where
crucifixes, chaplets, statuettes, pictures, and other religious
articles were sold, or the stone pulpit on her right which
Father Massias already occupied. Her eyes were dazzled
by the splendour of the Grotto ; it seemed to her as if a hun-
dred thousand tapers were burning there behind the railing,
filling the low entrance with the glow of a furnace and illumi-
nating, as with star rays, the statue of the Virgin, which
stood, higher up, at the edge of a narrow ogive-like cavity.
And for her, apart from that glorious apparition, nothing
existed there, neither the crutches with which a part of the
vault had been covered, nor the piles of bouquets fading away
amidst the ivy and the eglantine, nor even the altar placed
in the centre near a little portable organ over which a cover
had been thrown. However, as she raised her eyes above the
rook,, she once more beheld the slender white Basilica pro-
filed against the sky, its slight, tapering spire soaring into the
azure of the Infinite like a prayer.
' 0 Virgin most powerful — Queen of the Virgins — Holy
Virgin of Virgins 1 *
Pierre had now succeeded in wheeling Marie's box to the
front rank, beyond the numerous oak benches which were set
136 LOURDES
out here in the open air as in the nave of a church. Nearly
all these benches were already occupied by those sufferers
^yho could sit down, while the vacant spaces were soon fiUed
with litters and little vehicles whose wheels became entangled
together, and on whose close-packed mattresses and pillows all
sorts of diseases were gathered peU-mell. Immediately on
arriving, the young priest had recognised the Vignerons
seated with their sorry child Gustavo in the middle of a bench,
and now, on the flagstones, he caught sight of the lace-
trimmed bed of Madame Dieulafay, beside whom her husband
and sister knelt in prayer. Moreover, all the patients of
Madame de Jonqui^re's carriage took up position here — M.
Sabathier and Brother Isidore side by side, Madame Vetu
reclining hopelessly in a conveyance, Ehse Bouquet seated.
La Grivotte excited and raising herself on her clenched
hands. Pierre also again perceived Madame Maze, standing
somewhat apart from the others, and humbling herselfJn
prayer ; whilst Madame Vincent, who had fallen on her knees,
still holding her httle Eose in her arms, presented the child
to the Virgin with ardent entreaty, the distracted gesture of
a mother soliciting compassion from the mother of divine
grace. And around this reserved space was the ever-
growing throng of pilgrims, the pressing, jostling mob
which gradually stretched to the parapet overlooking the
Gave. ^^
' 0 Virgin most merciful,' continued Marie in an under-
tone, ' Virgin most faithful, Virgin conceived without
sin ! '
Then, almost fainting, she spoke no more, but with her
lips still moving, as though in silent prayer, gazed distractedly
at Pierre. He thought that she veished to speak to liim and
leant forward : ' Shall I remain here at your disposal to take
you to the piscina by-and-by ? ' he asked.
But as soon as she understood him she shook her head.
And then in a feverish way she said : ' No, no, I don't want to
be bathed this morning. It seems to me that one must be
truly worthy, truly pure, truly holy before seeking the
miracle ! I want to spend the whole morning in imploring it
with joined hands ; I want to pray, to pray with all my strength
and all nvj soul—' She was stifling, and paused. Then
she added : ' Don't come to take me back to the Hospital
till eleven o'clock. I will not let them ta^e me from here tiU
then.'
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 137
However, Pien'e did not go away, but remained near her.
For a moment, he even fell upon Ms knees ; he also would
have liked to pray with the same burning faith, to beg of
God the cure of that poor sick child, whom he loved with such
fraternal affection. But since he had reached the Grotto he
had felt a singular sensation invading him, a covert revolt, as ^
it were, which hampered the pious flight of his prayer. He
wished to believe ; he had spent the whole night hoping that
belief would once more blossom in his soul, like some lovely
flower of ignorance and candour, as soon as he should have
knelt upon the soil of that land of miracle. And yet he only
experienced discomfort and anxiety in presence of the'-7
theatrical scene before him, that pale stiff statue in the false
light of the tapers, with the chaplet shop fuU of jostling
customers on the one hand, and the large stone pulpit whence
a Father of the Assumption was shouting ' Aves ' on the other.
Had his soul become utterly withered then ? Could no divine
dew again impregnate it with innocence, render it like the
souls of little children, who at the slightest caressing touch of
the sacred legend give themselves to it entirely ?
Then, while his thoughts were still wandering, he recog-
nised Father Massias in the ecclesiastic who occupied the pulpit. "-
He had formerly known him, and was quite stirred by his
sombre ardour, by the sight of his thin face and sparkling
eyes, by the eloquence which poured from his large mouth
as he offered violence to Heaven to compel it to descend upon
earth. And whilst he thus examined Father Massias,
astonished at feeling himself so unlike the preacher, he _
caught sight of Father Fourcade, who, at the foot of the
pulpit, was deep in conference with Baron Suire. The latter
seemed much perplexed by something which Father Fourcade
said to him ; however he ended by approving it with a
complaisant nod. Then, as Abbe Judaine was also standing '
there. Father Fourcade likewise spoke to him for a moment,
and a scared expression came over the Abba's broad fatherly
face while he listened ; nevertheless, hke the Baron, he at last
bowed assent.
Then, all at once. Father Fourcade appeared in the pulpit,
erect, drawing up his lofty figure which his attack of gout
had slightly bent ; and he had not wished that Father Massias,
his weU-loved brother whom he preferred above all others,
should altogether go down the narrow stairway, for he had kept
him upon one of the steps, and was leaining on his shoulder.
rsS LOURDES
And, in a full, grave voice, -with an air of sovereign authority
which caused perfect silence to reign around, he spoke as
follows :
' My dear Brethren, my dear Sisters, I ask your forgiveness
for interrupting your prayers, but I have a communication to
make to you, and I have to ask the help of aU your faithful
Bouls. We had a very sad accident to deplore this morning,
one of our brethren died in one of the trains by which you
came to Lourdes, died just as he was about to set foot in the
promised land.'
A brief pause followed and Father Fourcade seemed to
become yet taller, his handsome face beaming with fervour,
amidst his long, streaming royal beard.
' Well, my dear Brethren, my dear Sisters,' he resumed,
'in spite of everything, the idea has come to me that we
ought not to despair. Who knows if God Almighty did not
will that death in order that He might prove His Omni-
potence to the world ? It is as though a voice were speaking
to me, urging me to ascend this pulpit and ask your prayers
for this man, this man who is no more, but whose life is
nevertheless in the hands of the most Blessed Virgin who
can still implore her Divine Son in his favour. Yes, the man
is here, I have caused his body to be brought hither, and it
depends on you perhaps whether a brilliant miracle shall
dazzle the universe, if you pray with sufficient ardour to touch
the compassion of Heaven. We will plunge the man's body
into the piscina and we will entreat the Lord, the master of
the world, to resuscitate him, to give unto us this extra-
ordinary sign of His sovereign beneficence I '
An icy thriU, wafted from the Invisible, passed through
the listeners. They had all become pale, and though tho
lips of none of them had opened, it seemed as if a mur-
mur sped through their ranks amidst a shudder.
' But with what ardour must we not pray 1 ' violently
resumed Father Fourcade, exalted by genuine faith. ' It is
your souls, your whole souls, that I ask of you, my dear
brothers, my dear sisters, it is a prayer in which you must
put your hearts, your blood, your very life with whatever may
be most noble and loving in it ! Pray with all your strength,
pray till you no longer know who you are, or where you are ;
pray as one loves, pray as one dies, for that which we are
about to ask is so precious, so rare, so astounding a grace
that only the energy of our worship can induce God to
HOSPITAL AND GROTTO 139
answer us. And in order that our prayers may be the more
efficacious, in order that they may have time to spread and
ascend to the feet of the Eternal Father, we will not lower
the body into the piscina until four o'clock this afternoon.
And now my dear Brethren, now my dear Sisters, pray, pray
to the most Blessed Virgin, the Queen of the Angels, the
Comforter of the Afflicted ! '
Then he himself, distracted by emotion, resumed the
recital of the rosary, whilst near him Father Massias burst
into sobs. And thereupon the great anxious silence was
broken, contagion seized upon the throng, it was transported
and gave vent to shouts, tears, and confused stammered
entreaties. It was as though a breath of delirium were
sweeping by, reducing men's wills to naught, and turning all
these beings into one being, exasperated with love and seized
with a mad desire for the impossible prodigy.
And for a moment Pierre had thought that the ground
was giving way beneath him, that he was about to fall and
faint. But with difficulty he managed to rise from bia knees
and slowly walked away.
m
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA
As Pierre went off, ill at ease, mastered by inyincible re-
pugnance, unwilling to remain there any longer, he caught
sight of M. de Guersaint, kneeling near the Grotto, with the
absorbed air of one who is praying with his whole soul. The
young priest had not seen him since the morning, and did not
know whether he had managed to secure a couple of rooms in
one or other of the hotels, so that his first impulse was to
go and join him. -Then, however, he hesitated, unwilling to
disturb his meditations, for he was doubtless praying for his
daughter whom he fondly loved, in spite of the constant absent-
mindedness of his volatile brain. Accordingly the young priest
passed on, and took his way under the trees. Nihe o'clock
was now striking, he had a couple of hours before him.
By dint of money, the wild bank where swine had formerly
pastured had been transformed into a superb avenue skirting
the Gave. It had been necessary to put back the river's bed
140 LOURDES
in order to gain ground, and lay out a monumental quay
bordered by a broad footway, and protected by a parapet.
Some two or three himdred yards further on, a hill brought
the avenue to an end, and it thus resembled an enclosed pro-
menade, provided with benches, and shaded by magnificent
trees. Nobody passed along, however; merely the overflow
of the crowd had settled there, and soUtary spots still
abounded between the grassy wall Hmiting the promenade
on the south, and the extensive fields spreading out north-
ward beyond the Gave, as far as the wooded slopes which the
white-walled convents brightened. Under the fohage, on the
margin of the running water, one could enjoy delightful fresh-
ness, even during the burning days of August.
Thus Pierre, like a man at last awakening from a painful
dream, soon found rest of mind again. He had questioned
himself in the acute anxiety which he felt with regard to his
sensations. Had he not reached Lourdes that morning pos-
sessed by a genuine desire to beheve, an idea that he was
' indeed again beginning to believe even as he had done in the
docile days of childhood when his mother had made him join
his hands, and taught him to fear God ? Yet as soon as he
had found himself at the Grotto, the idolatry of the worship,
the violence of the display of faith, the onslaught upon human
reason, had so disturbed him that he had almost fainted.
What would become of him then ? Could he not even try to
contend against his doubts by examining things and convinc-
ing himself of their truth, thus turning his journey to profit ?
At all events, he had made a bad beginning, which left him
sorely agitated, and he indeed needed the environment of.
those fine trees, that limpid, rushing water, that calm, cool
avenue, to recover from the shock.
Still pondering, he was approaching the end of the path
way, when he most unexpectedly met a forgotten friend. He
had, for a few seconds, been looking at a tall old gentleman
who was coming towards him, dressed in a tightly-buttoned
frock-coat and broad-brimmed hat ; and he had tried to
remember where it was that he had previously beheld that
pale face, with eagle nose, and black and penetrating eyes.
These he had seen before, he felt sure of it ; but the prome-
uader's long white beard and long curly white hair perplexed
him. _ However, the other halted, also looking extremely
astonished, though he promptly exclaimed, ' What, Pierre ?
Ib it you, at Lourdes ? '
FOUNTAIN ANt) PISCINA 141
Then all at once the young priest recognised Doctor
Chassaigne, his father's old friend, his own friend, the man
who had cured and consoled him in the terrible physical and
mental crisis which had come upon him after his mother's
death.
' Ah ! my dear doctor, how pleased I am to see you 1 ' he
repHed.
They embraced with deep emotion. And now, in presence
of that snowy hair and snowy beard, that slow walk, that
sorrowful demeanour, Pierre remembered with what unrelent-
ing ferocity misfortune had fallen on that unhappy man and
aged him. But a few years had gone by, and now, when they
met again, he was bowed down by destiny.
' You did not know, I suppose, that I had remained at
Lourdes ? ' said the doctor. ' It's true that I no longer write
to anybody ; in fact, I am no longer among the living. I Uve
in the land of the dead.' Tears were gathering in his eyes,
and emotion made his voice falter as he resumed : ' There !
come arid sit down on that bench yonder ; it will please me to
live the old days afresh with you, just for a moment.'
In his turn the young priest felt his sobs choking him.
He could only murmur, ' Ah ! my dear doctor, my old friend,
I can truly teU you that I pitied you with my whole heart, my
whole soul.'
Doctor Chassaigne's story was one of disaster, the ship-
wreck of a life. He and his daughter Marguerite, a tall and
lovable girl of twenty, had gone to Cauterets with Madame
Chassaigne, the model wife and mother, whose state of health
had made them somewhat anxious. A fortnight had gone by,
and she seemed much better, and was already planning several
pleasure trips, when one morning she was found dead in her
bed. Her husband and daughter were overwhelmed, stupefied
by this sudden blow, this cruel treachery of death. The
doctor, who belonged to Bartres, had a family vault in the
^Lourdes cemetery, a vault constructed at his own expense,
and in which his father and mother already rested. Ho
desired, therefore, that his wife should be interred there, in a
compartment adjoining that in which he expected soon to lie
himself. And after the burial he had Hngered for a week at
Lourdes, when Marguerite, who was with him, was seized
with a great shivering, and, taking to her bed one evening,
died two days afterwards without her distracted father being
Able to form any exact notion of the illness which had carried
142 LOURDES
her off. And thus it was not himself, but his daughter,
lately radiant with beauty and health, in the very flower of
her youth, who was laid in the vacant compartment by the
mother's side. The man who had been so happy, so wor-
shipped by his two helpmates, whose heart had been kept
so warm by the love of two dear creatures all his own, was
now nothing more than an old, miserable, stammering, lost
being, who shivered in his icy soUtude. All the joy of his
life had departed ; he envied the men who broke stones upon
the highways when he saw their barefooted wives and
daughters bring them their dinners at noontide. And he had
refused to leave Lourdes, he had relinquished everything, his
studies, his practice in Paris, in order that he might live near
the tomb in which his wife and his daughter slept the eternal
sleep,
' Ah, my old friend,' repeated Pierre, ' how I pitied you !
How frightful must havebeen your grief ! But why did you
not rely a little on those who love you ? Why did you shut
yourself up here with your sorrow ? '
The doctor made a gesture which embraced the horizon.
' I could not go away, they are here and keep me with them.
It is all over, I am merely waiting till my time comes to join
them again.'
Then silence fell. Birds were fluttering among the shrubs
on the bank behind them, and in front they heard the loud
murmur of the Gave. The sun rays were falling more heavily
in a slow, golden dust, upon the hillsides ; but on that retired
bench under the beautiful trees, the coolness was still delight-,
ful. And although the crowd was but a couple of hundred
yards distant, they were, so to say, in a desert, for nobody tore,
himself away from the Grotto to stray as far as the spot which
they had chosen.
They talked together for a long time, and Pierre related
under what circumstances he had reached Lourdes that morn-
ing with M. de Guersaint and his daughter, aU three forming
part of the national pilgrimage. Then all at once he gave a
start of astonishment and exclaimed : ' What I doctor, so you
now believe that miracles are possible ? You, good heavens \
whom I knew as an unbeUever, or at least as one altogether
indifferent to these matters ? '
He was gazing at M. Chassaigne quite stupefied by some-
thing which he had just heard him say of the Grotto and
Bernadette, It was amazing, coming from a man with so
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 143
strong a mind, a savant of such inteliigence, ■wlioss powerful
analytical faculties he had formerly so much admired ! How
was it that a lofty clear mind, nourished by experience and
method, had become so changed as to acknowledge the
miraculous cures effected by that divine fountain which the
Blessed Virgin had caused to spurt forth under the pressure
of a child's fingers ?
' But just think a little, my dear doctor,' he resumed. ' It
was you yourself who supplied my father with memoranda
about Bernadette, your little feUow- villager as you used to call
her ; and it was you, too, who spoke to me at such length
about heT:, when, later on, I took a momentary interest in her
story. In yoiir eyes she was simply an ailing child, prone to
hallucinations, infantile, but half-conscious of her acts, deficient
of will power. Recollect our chats together, my doubts, and
the healthy reason which you again enabled me to acquire ! '
Pierre was feeling very moved, for was not this the
strangest of adventures ? He a priest, who had formerly
resigned himself to endeavour to believe, had ended by com-
pletely losing all faith through intercourse with this same
doctor, who was then an unbeliever, but whom he now found
converted, conquered by the supernatural, whilst he himself
was racked by the torture of no longer believing.
' You who would only rely on accurate facts,' he said, ' you
who based everything on observation I Do you renounce
science then ? '
Chassaigne, hitherto quiet, with a sorrowful smile playing
on his lips, now made a violent gesture expressive of sovereign
contempt. ' Science indeed ! ' he exclaimed. ' Do I know
anything ? Can I accomplish anything ? You asked me
just now what malady it was that killed my poor Marguerite.
But I do not know ! I, whom people think so learned, so well
armed against death, I understood nothing of it, and I could
do nothing — not even prolong my daughter's life for a single
hour ! And my wife, whom I found in bed already cold, when
on the previous evening she had lain down in much better
health and quite gay — was I even capable of foreseeing what
ought to have been done in her case ? No, no ! for me at all
events, science has become bankrupt. I wish to know nothing,
I am but a fool and a poor old man ! '
He spoke like this in a furious revolt against all his past
life of pride and happiness. Then, having become calm again,
he added ; ' And now I only feel a frightful remorse. Yes, a
144 LOURDES
remorse wliioh haunts me, which ever brings me here, prowl-
ing around the people who are praying. It is remorse for not
having in the first instance come and humbled myself at that
Grotto, bringing my two dear ones with me. They would
have knelt there Uke those women whom you see, I should
have knelt beside them, and perhaps the Blessed Virgin would
have cured and preserved them. But, fool that I was, I only
knew how to lose them ! It is my fault.'
Tears were now streaming from his eyes. ' I remember,'
he continued, ' that in my childhood at Bartr^s, my mother, a
peasant woman, made me join my hands and implore God's
help each morning. The prayer she taught me came back to
my mind, word for word, when I again found myself alone, as
weak, as lost as a little child. What would you have, my
friend ? I joined my hands as in my younger days, I felt too
wretched, too forsaken, I had too keen a need of a superhuman
help, of a divine power which should think and determine
for me, which should lull me and carry me on with its eter-
nal prescience. How great at first was the confusion, the
aberration of my poor brain, under the frightful, heavy blow
which fell upon it ! I spent a score of nights vnthout being
able to sleep, thinking that I should surely go mad. All sorts of
ideas warred within me ; I passed through periods of revolt when
I shook my fist at Heaven, and then I lapsed into humility, en-
treating God to take me in my turn. Aid it was at last a con-
viction that there must be justice, a conviction that there must
be love, which calmed me by restoring me my faith. You knew
my daughter, so tall and strong, so beautiful, so brimful of
life. "Would it not be the most monstrous injustice if for her,
who had not known life, there were nothing beyond the tomb ?
She will live again, I am ahsolutely convinced of it, for I still
hear her at times, she tells me that we shall meet, that we
shall see one another again. Oh ! the dear beings whom one
has lost, my dear daughter, my dear wife, to see them once
more, to live with them elsewhere, that is the one hope, the
one consolation for all the sorrows of this world ! I have
given myself to God, since God alone can restore them to
me!"
He was shaking with a slight tremor, like the weak old
man he had become ; and Pierre was at last able to understand
and explain the conversion of this savant, this man of intellect
who, growing old, had reverted to belief under the influence
of sentiment. First of all, and this he had not previously
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 14S
Buspected, he discovered a kind of atavism of faith in this
Pyrenean, this son of peasant mountaineers, who had been
brought up in beUef of the legend, and vrhom the legend had
again mastered even when fifty years of positive study had
rolled over it. Then, too, there was human weariness ; this
man, to whom science had not broi^ht happiness, revolted
against science on the day when it seemed to him shallow,
powerless to prevent him from shedding tears. And finally
there was discouragement, a doubt of all things ending in a
need of certainty on the part cf this old man whom age had
softened, and who felt happy at being able to fall asleep in
credulity.
Pierre did not protest, however ; he did not jeer, for his
heart was rent at sight of this stricken sexagenarian, with hia
woeful senility. Is it not indeed pitiful to see the strongest,
the clearest-minded become mere children again under such
blows of fate ? ' Ah ! ' he faintly sighed, ' if I could Only
suffer enough to be able to silence my reason, and kneel
yonder and believe in all those fine stories.'
The pale smile, which at times still passed over Doctor
Chassaigne's lips, reappeared on them. 'You mean the
miracles ? ' said he. ' You are a priest, my child, and I know
what your misfortune is. The miracles seem impossible to
you. But what do you know of them? Admit that you
know nothing, and that what to our senses seems impossible is
every minute taking place. And now we have been talking
together for a long time, and eleven o'clock will soon strike, so
that you must return to the Grotto. However, I shall expect
you at half-past three, when I will take you to the medical
verification office, where I hope I shall be able to show you
some surprising things. Don't forget, at half-past three.'
Thereupon he sent him off, and remained on the bench
alone. The heat had yet increased, and the distant hills were
burning in the furnace-like glow of the sun. However, he
lingered there forgetfully, dreaming in the greeny half-light
amidst the fohage, and hstening to the continuous murmur of
the Gave, as if a voice, a dear voice fromihe realms beyond,
were speaking to him.
Pierre meantime hastened back to Marie. He was able to
join her without much difficulty, for the crowd was thinning,
a good many people having already gone off to dijeuner. And
on arriving he perceived the girl's father, who was quietly
seated beside her, and who at once wished to explain to him
It
146 LOURDES
the reason of his long absence. For more than a couple of
hours that morning he had scoured Lourdes in all directions,
applying at twenty hotels in turn -Without being able to find
the smallest closet where they might sleep. Even the servants'
rooms were let and you could not have even secured a mattress
on which to stretch yourself in some passage. However, all
at once, just as he was despairing, he had discovered two
rooms, small ones, it is true, and just under the roof, but in a
very good hotel, that of the Apparitions, one of the best patro-
nised in the town. The persons who had retained these
rooms had just telegraphed that the patient whom they had
meant to bring with them was dead. Briefly, it was a piece
of rare good luck, and seemed to make M. de Guersaint c[uite
gay-
Eleven o'clock was now striking and the woeful procession
of sufferers started off again through the sunHt streets and
squares. When it reached the Hospital Marie begged her
father and Pierre to go to the hotel, lunch and rest there
awhile, and return to fetch her at two o'clock, when the
patients would again be conducted to the Grotto. But when,
after lunching, the two men went up to the rooms which they
were to occupy at the Hotel of the Apparitions, M. de Guer-
saint, overcome by fatigue, fell so soundly asleep that Pierre
had not the heart to awaken. him. What would have been
the use of it ? His presence was not indispensable. And so
the young priest returned to the Hospital alone. Then the
cortdge again descended the Avenue de la Grotte, again wended
its way over the Plateau de la Merlasse, again crossed the
Place du Bosaire, through an ever-growing crowd which
shuddered and crossed itself amid all the joyousness of that
splendid August day. It was now the most glorious hour of
a lovely afternoon.
When Marie was again installed in front of the Grotto she
inquired if her father were coming. ' Yes,' answered Pierre ;
' he is only taking a Uttle rest.'
She waved her hand as though to say that he was acting
rightly, and then in a sorely troubled voice she added : ' Listen,
Pierre ; don't take me to the piscina for another hour. I am
not yet in a state to find favour from Heaven, I wish to pray,
to keep on praying.'
After evincing such an ardent desire to come to Lourdes,
terrorwas agitating her now that the moment for attempting
the miracle was at hand. la fact, she began to relate that
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 147
she had been unable to eat anything, and a girl who overheard
her at once approached saying : 'If you feel too weak, my
dear young lady, remember we have some broth here.'
Marie looked at her and recognised Eaymonde. Several
young girls were in this wise employed at the Grotto to dis-
tribute cups of broth and milk among the sufferers. Some of
them, indeed, in previous years, had displayed so much coquetry
in the matter of silk aprons trimmed with lace, that a uniform
apron, of modest linen, with a small check pattern, blue and
white, had been imposed on them. Nevertheless, in spite of
this enforced simplicity, Eaymonde, thanks to her freshness
and her active, good-natured, housewifely air, had succeeded
in making herseU look quite charming.
' You will remember, won't you ? ' she added ; ' you have
only to make me a sign and I will serve you.'
Marie thanked her, saying, however, that she felt sure she
would not be able to take anything ; and then, turning towards
the young priest, she resumed : ' One hour — you must allow
me one more hour, my friend.'
Pierre wished at any rate to remain near her, but the
entire space was reserved to the sufferers, the bearers not being
allowed there. So he had to retire, and, caught in the rolling
Waves of the crowd, he found himself carried towards the
piscinas, where he came upon an extraordinary spectacle which
stayed his steps. In front of the low buildings where the
baths were, three by three, six for the women and three for
the men, he perceived under the trees a long stretch of ground
enclosed by a rope fastened to the tree trunks; and here
various sufferers, some sitting in their bath-chairs and others
lying on the mattresses of their litters, were drawn up in line,
waiting to be bathed, whilst outside the rope, a huge, excited
throng was ever pressing and surging. A Capuchin, erect in
the centre of the reserved space, was at that moment conduct-
ing the prayers. ' Aves ' followed one after the other, repeated
by the crowd in a loud confused murmur. Then, all at-once,
as Madame Vincent, who, pale with agony, had long been
waiting, was admitted to the baths, carrying her dear burden,
her little girl who- looked like a waxen image of the child
Christ, the Capuchin let himself fall upon his knees with his
arms extended, and cried aloud : ' Lord, heal our sick ! ' He
raised this cry a dozen, twenty times, with a growing fury,
and each time the crowd repeated it, growing more and more
excited at each shout, till it sobbed and kissed the ground in
l2
148 LOURDES
a state of frenzy. It was like a hurricane of delirium rushing
by and laying every head among the dust. Pierre was utterly
distracted by the sob of suffering which arose from the very
bowels of these poor folks — at first a prayer, growing louder
and louder, then bursting forth like a demand in impatient,
angry, deafening, obstinate accents, as though to compel the
help of Heaven. ' Lord, heal our sick ! ' — ' Lord, heal our sick ! '
The shout soared on high incessantly.
An incident occurred, however ; La Grivotte was weeping
hot tears because they would not bathe her. ' They say that
I'm a consumptive,' she plaintively exclaimed, ' and that they
can't dip consumptives in cold water. Yet they dipped one this
morning ; I saw her. So why won't they dip me ? I've been
wearing myself out for the last half-hour in telHng them that
they are only grieving the Blessed Virgin, for I am going to
be cured, I feel it, I am going to be cured ! '
As she was beginning to cause a scandal, one of the
chaplains of the piscinas approached, and endeavoured to
calm her. They would see what they could do for her, by-
and-by, said he, they would consult the reverend Fathers ;
and, if she were very good, perhaps they would bathe her all
the same.
Meantime the cry continued : ' Lord, heal our sick ! Lord,
heal our sick ! ' And Pierre, who had just perceived Madame
Vetu, also waiting at the piscina entry, could no longer turn his
eyes away from her hope-tortured face, whose eyes were fixed
upon the doorway by which the happy ones, the elect, emerged
from the divine presence, cured of all their ailments. How-
ever, a sudden increase of the crowd's frenzy, a perfect rage of
entreaties, gave him such a shock as to draw tears from his
eyes. Madame Vincent was now coining out again, still
carrying her little girl in her arms, her vsretched, her fondly
loved little girl, who had been dipped in a fainting state in the
icy water, and whose little face, but imperfectly wiped, was as
pale as ever, and indeed even more woeful and lifeless. The
mother was sobbing, crucified by this long agony, reduced to
despair by the refusal of the Blessed Virgin, who had remained
insensible to her child's sufferings. And yet when Madame
Vetu in her turn entered, with the eager passion of a dying
woman about to drink the water of life, the haunting, obstinate
cry burst forth agam, without sign of discouragement or
lassitude : ' Lord, heal our sick ! Lord, heal our sick ! ' The
Capuchin had i)pw fallpn witji his face tio the ground, and the
FOUNTAIN AND PtSClNA 149
howling crowd, with arms outstretched, devoured the soil with
its kisses.
■ Pierre wished to join Madame Vincent to soothe her with
a few kind, encouraging words, but a fresh string of pilgrims
not only prevented him from passing, but threw him towards
the fountain which another throng besieged. There was here
quite a range of low buildings, a long stone wall with carved
coping, and it had been necessary to form processions although
there were twelve taps from which the water fell into a narrow
basin. Many came hither to fill bottles, metal cans, and
stoneware pitchers. To prevent too great a waste of water,
the tap only acted when a knob was pressed with the hand.
And thus many weak-handed women lingered there a long time,
the water dripping on their feet. Those who had no cans to fill
at least came to drink and wash their faces. Pierre noticed
one young man who drank seven small glassfuls of water, and
washed his eyes seven times without wiping them. Others
were drinking out of shells, tin goblets, and leather cups.
And he was particularly interested by the sight of Elise
Eouquet, who, thinking it useless to go to the piscinas to
bathe the frightful sore which was eating away her face, had
contented herself with employing the water of the fountain as
a lotion, every two hours since her arrival that morning. She
knelt dowur threw back her fichu, and for a long time appUed
a handkerchief to her face — a handkerchief which she had
soaked with the miraculous fluid like a sponge ; and the crowd
around her rushed upon the fountain in such fury that folks
no longer noticed her diseased face, but washed themselves
and drank from the same pipe at which she constantly
moistened her handkerchief. .
Just then, however, Gerard, who passed by dragging M.
Sabathier to the piscinas, called to Pierre, whom he saw un-
occupied, and asked him to come and help him, for it would not
be an easy task to move and bathe this helpless victim of ataxia.
And thus Pierre lingered with the sufferer in the men's piscina
for nearly half-an-hour, whilst G&ard returned to the Grotto
to fetch another patient. These piscinas seemed to the young
priest to be very well arranged. They were divided into
three compartments, three baths separated by partitions, with
steps leading into them. In order that one might isolate the
patient, a Men curtain hung before each entry, which was
reached through a kind of waiting-room having a paved floor,
and f vunished with a bench and a couple of chairs. Here the
ISO LOVRIjES
patients undressed and dressed themselves witii an awkward
haste, a nervous kind of shame. One man, whom Pierre found
there when he entered, was still naked, and wrapped himself
in the curtain before putting on a bandage with trembling
hands. Another one, a consumptive who was frightfully
emaciated, sat shivering and groaning, his livid skin mottled
with violet marks. However, Pierre became more interested
in Brother Isidore, who was just being removed from one
of the baths. He had fainted away, and for a moment, indeed,
it was thought that he was dead. But at last he beg^n moan-
ing again, and one's heart filled with pity at sight of his long,
lank frame, which suffering had withered, and which, with
his diseased hip, looked a human remnant on exhibition.
The two hospitallers who had been bathing Tii'tti had the
greatest difficulty to put on his shirt, fearful as they were
that if he were suddenly shaken he might expire in their
arms.
' You will help me, Monsieur I'AbbS, won't you ? ' asked
another hospitaller as he began to undress M. Sabatbier.
Pierre hastened to give his services, and found that the
attendant, discharging such humble duties, was none other
than the Marquis de Salmon-Eoquebert whom M. de Guersaint
had pointed out to him on the way from the station to the
Hospital that morning. A man of forty, with a large, aquiline
knightly nose set in a long face, the marquis was the la^t
representative of one of the most ancient and illustrious
families of France. Possessing a large fortune, a regal
mansion in the Eue de Lille at Paris and vast estates in
Normandy, he came to Lourdes, each year, for the three dayS
of the national pilgrimage, influenced solely by his benevolent
feelings, for he had no religious zeal and simply observed the
rites of the Church because it was customary for noblemen
to do so. And be obstinately declined any high functions.
Eesolved to remain a hospitaUer, he had that year assumed
the duty of bathing the patients, exhausting the strength of
his arms, employing his fingers from morning till night in
handling rags and re-applying dressings to sores.
' Be careful,' he said to Pierre ; ' take off the stockings very
slowly. Just now, some flesh came away when they were
taking off the things of that poor fellow who is being dressed
again, over yonder.'
Then, leaving M. Sabathier for a moment in order to put
on the shoes of the unhappy sufferer whom he alluded to, the
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 151
Marquis found the left shoe wet inside. Some matter had
flowed into the fore part of it, and he had to take the usual
medical precautions before putting it on the patient's foot, a
task which he performed with extreme care, and so as not to
touch the man's leg, into which an ulcer was eating.
' And now,' he said to Pierre as he returned to M. Sabathier,
' pull down the drawers at the same time as I do, so that we
may get them off at one pull.'
In addition to the patients and the hospitallers selected for
fluty at the piscinas, the only person in the little' dressing-
room was a chaplain who kept on repeating ' Paters ' and
' Aves,' for not even a momentary pause was allowed in the
prayers. Merely a loose curtain hung before the doorway
leading to the open space which the rope enclosed ; and the
ardent clamorous entreaties of the throng were incessantly
wafted into the room, with the piercing shouts of the Capuchin,
who ever repeated : ' Lord, heal our sick ! Lord, heal our sick ! '
A cold light fell from the high windows of the building and
constant dampness reigned there, with a mouldy smell like
that of a cellar dripping with water.
At last M. Sabathier was stripped, divested of all garments
save a little apron which had been fastened about his loins for
decency's sake.
' Pray don't plunge me,' said he ; ' let me down into the
water by degrees.'
In point of fact that cold water quite terrified him. . He
was stin wont to relate that he had experienced such a fright-
ful chilling sensation on the first occasion that he had sworn
never to begin again. According to his account there could
be no worse torture than that icy cold. And then too, as he
put it, the water was scarcely inviting ; for, through fear lest
the output of the source should not suffice, the Fathers of the
Grotto only allowed the water of the baths to be changed
twice a day. And nearly a hundred patients being dipped in
the same water, it can be imagined what a terrible soup the
latter at last became. AU manner of things were found in it,
so that it was like a frightful consommS of all ailments, a field
of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germ, a quintessence
of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the miraculous
feature of it all being that men should emerge aUve from their
immersion in such filth.
' Gently, gently,' repeated M. Sabathier to Pierre and the
marquis, who had taken hold of him under the hips in
152 LOURDES
order to carry Hm to tie bath. And he gazed with childlike
terror at that thick, hvid water on which floated so many
greasy, nauseating patches of scum. However, his dread of
the cold was so great that he preferred the polluted baths of
the afternoon, since aU the bodies that were dipped in
the water during the early part of the day ended by sUghtly
warming it.
'We will let you slide down the steps,' explained the
Marquis in an undertone ; and then he instructed Pierre to
hold the patient with aU his strength under the arm-pits.
' Have no fear,' replied the priest ; ' I will not let go.'
M. Sabathier was then slowly lowered. You could now
only see his back, his poor painful back which swayed and
swelled, mottled by the rippling of a shiver. And when they
dipped him, his head fell back in a spasm, a sound Uke the
cracking of bones was heard, and,- breathing hard, he almost
stifled.
The chaplain, standing beside the bath, had begun calling
with renewed fervour : ' Lord, heal our sick ! Lord, heal our
Bick 1 '
M. de Salmon-Eoquebert repeated the cry, which the
regulations required the hospitallers to raise at each fresh
immersion. Pierre, therefore, had to imitate his companion,
and his pitiful feelings at the sight of so much suffering were
so intense that he regained some little of his faith. It was
long indeed since he had prayed hke this, devoutly wishing
that there might be a God in Heaven, whose omnipotence
could assuage the wretchedness of humanity. At the end of
three or four minutes, however, when with great difficulty they
drew M. Sabathier, livid and shivering, out of the bath, the
young priest fell into deeper, more despairing sorrow than
ever at beholding how downcast, how overwhelmed the sufferer
was at having experienced no relief. Again had he made a
futile attempt; for the seventh time the Blessed Virgin had
not deigned to listen to his prayers. He closed his eyes, from
between the lids of which big tears began to roll while they
were dressing him again.
Then Pierre recognised little Gustave Vigneron coming in,
on his crutch, to take his first bath. His relatives, his father,
his mother, and his aunt, Madame Chaise, all three of sub-
stantial appearance and exemplary piety, had just fallen on
their knees at the door. Whispers ran through the crowd ;
it was said that the gentleman was a functionary of the
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 153
Ministry of Finances. However, while the child was begin-
ning to undress a tumult arose, and Father Foureade and
Father Massias, suddenly arriving, gave orders to suspend the
immersions. The great miracle was about to be attempted,
the extraordinary favour which had been so ardently prayed
for since the morning — the restoration of the dead man to
Ufe.
The prayers were continuing outside, rising in a furious
appeal which died away in the sky of that warm summer
afternoon. Two bearers came in with a covered stretcher,
which they deposited in the middle of the dressing-room.
Baron Suire, President of the Association, followed, accom-
panied by Berthaud, one of its principal officers, for the affair
was causing a great stir among the whole staff, and before
anything was done a few words were exchanged in low voices
between the gentlemen and the two Fathers of the Assump-
tion. Then the latter fell upon their knees, with arms
extended, and began to pray, their faces iUumined, transfigured
by their burning desire to see God's omnipotence displayed.
' Lord, hear us ! Lord, grant our prayer ! '
M. Sabathier had just been taken away, and the only
patient now present was little Gustave, who had remained
on a chair, half- undressed and forgotten. The curtains of the
stretcher were raised, and the man's corpse appeared, already
stiff, and seemingly reduced and shrunken, with large eyes
which had obstinately remained wide open. It was necessary,
however, to undress the body, which was still fully clad, and
this terrible duty made the bearers momentarily hesitate.
Pierre noticed that the Marquis de Salmon-Eoquebert, who
showed such devotion to the living, such freedom from all
repugnance whenever they were in question, had now drawn
aside and fallen on his knees, as though to avoid the necessity
of touching that lifeless corpse. And the young priest there-
upon followed his example, and knelt near him in order to
keep countenance.
Father Massias meanwhile was gradually becoming
excited, praying in so loud a voice that it drowned that of his
superior, Father Foureade : ' Lord, restore our brother to us 1 '
he cried. 'Lord, do it for Thy glory ! '
One of the hospitallers had already begun to puU at the
man's trousers, but his legs were so stiff that the garment
would not come off. In fact the corpse ought to have been
raised up ; and the other hospitaller, who was unbuttoning
154 LOURDES
the dead man's old frock coat, remarked in an undertone that
it would be best to cut everytbing away with a pair of
scissors. Otherwise there would be no end of the job.
Berthaud, however, rushed up to them, after rajpidly con-
sulting Baron Suire. As a politician he secretly disapproved
of Father Fourcade's fiction in making such an attempt, only
they could not now do otherwise than carry matters to an
issue ; for the crowd was waiting and had been entreating
God on the dead man's behalf ever since the morning. The
wisest course, therefore, was to finish with the affair at once,
showing as much respect as possible for the remains of the
deceased. In lieu, therefore, of pulling the corpse about in
order to strip it bare, Berthaud was of opinion that it would
be better to dip it in the piscina, clad as it was. Should the
man resuscitate, it would be easy to procure fresh clothes for
him ; and in the contrary event, no harm would have been
done. This is what he hastily said to the bearers ; and forth-
with he helped them to pass some straps under the man's hips
and arms.
Father Fourcade had nodded his approval of this course,
whilst Father Massias prayed with increased fervour:
' Breathe upon him, 0 Lord, and he shall be bom anew !
Restore his soul to him, 0 Lord, that he may glorify
Thee ! '
Making an effort, the two hospitallers now raised the man
by means of the straps, carried him to the bath, and slowly
lowered him into the water, at each moment fearing that he
would slip away from their hold. Pierre, although overcome
by horror, could not do otherwise than look at them, and thus
he distinctly beheld the immersion of this corpse in its sorry
garments, which on being wetted clung to the bones, outlining
the skeleton-hke figure of the deceased, who floated like a
man who has been drowned. But the repulsive part of it all
was, that in spite of the rigor mortis, the head fell backward
into the water, and was submerged by it. Li vain did the
hospitallers try to raise it by pulling the shoulder straps ;
as they made the attempt, the man almost sank to the bottom
of the bath. And how could he have recovered his breath
when his mouth was full of water, his staring eyes seemingly
dying afresh, beneath that watery veil ?
Then, during the three long minutes allowed for the
immersion, the two Fathers of the Assumption and the chap-
lain, in a paroxysm of desire and faith, strove to compel the
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA ics
intervention of Heaven, praying in such loud voices that they
seemed to choke.
'Do Thou but look on him, 0 Lord, and he will live
again 1 Lord ! may he rise at Thy voice to convert the
earth I Lord ! Thou hast but one word to say and all Thy
people will acclaim Thee ! '
At last, as though some vessel had broken in his throat,
Father Massias fell groaning and choking on his elbows, with
only enough strength left him to kiss the flagstones. And
from without came the clamour of the crowd, the ever-
repeated cry, which the Capuchin was still leading : ' Lord,
heal our sick ! Lord, heal our sick 1 ' This appeal soemed
so singular at that moment, that Pierre's sufferings were
increased. He could feel too that the marquis was shudder-
ing beside him. And so the relief was general, when Berthaud,
thoroughly annoyed with the whole business, curtly shouted
to the hospitallers : ' Take him out ! Take him out at once ! '
The body was removed from the bath and laid on the
stretcher, looking hke the corpse of a drowned man with its
sorry garments clinging to its hmbs. The water was trickling
from the hair, and rivulets began falling on either side, spread-
ing out in pools on the floor. And naturally, dead as the
man had been, dead he remained.
The others had all risen and stood looking at him amidst
a distressing silence. Then, as he was covered up and carried
away. Father Fourcade foUowed the bier' leaning on the
Shoulder of Father Massias and dragging his gouty leg, the
painful weight of which he had momentarily forgotten. But
he was already recovering his strong serenity, and as a hush
fell upon the crowd outside, he could be heard saying : ' My
dear brothers, my dear sisters, God has not been willing to
restore him to us, doubtless because in His infinite goodness
He has desired to retain him among His elect.'
And that was all ; there was no further question of the
dead man. Patients were again being brought into the dress-
ing room, the two other baths were already occupied. And
now little Gustavo, who had watched that terrible scene with
his keen inquisitive eyes, evincing no sign of terror, finished
undressing himself. His wretched body, the body of a
scrofulous child, appeared with its prominent ribs and
projecting spine, its limbs so thin that they looked like mere
walking-sticks. Especially was this the case as regards the
left one, which was withered, wasted to the bone ; and he also
156 LOVRDES
had two sores, one on the hip and the other in the loins, the
last a terrible one, the skin being eaten away so that, you
distiactly saw the raw flesh. Ypt he smiled, rendered so
precocious by his sufferings that, although but fifteen years
old and looking no more than ten, he seemed to be endowed
with the reason and philosophy of a grown man.
The Marquis de Salmon-Eoquebert, who had taken him
gently in his arms, refused Pierre's offer of service :
' Thanks, but he weighs no more than a bird. And don't be
frightened, my dear little fellow. I will do it gently.'
' Oh, I am not afraid of cold water, monsieur,' replied the
boy ; ' you may duck me.'
Then he was lowered into the bath in which the dead
man had been dipped. Madame Vigneron and Madame
Chaise, who were not allowed to enter, had remained at the
door on their knees, whilst the father, M. Vigneron, who was
admitted into the dressing-room, went on making the sign of
the cross.
Finding that his services were no longer required, Pierre
now departed. The sudden idea that three o'clock must
have long since struck and that Marie must be waiting
for him made him hasten his steps. However, whilst he
was endeavouring to pierce the crowd, he saw the girl arrive
in her little conveyance, dragged along by G&ard, who had
not ceased transporting sufferers to the piscina. She had
become impatient, suddenly filled with a conviction that she
was at last in a frame of mind to find grace. And at sight of
Pierre she reproached him, saying, ' "Wliat, my friend, did you
forget me ? '
He could find no answer, but watched her as she was
taken into the piscina reserved for women, and then, in
mortal sorrow, fell upon his knees. It was there that he
would wait for her, humbly kneeling, in order that he might
take her back to the Grotto, cured without doubt and singing
a hymn of praise. Since she was certain of it would she not
assuredly be cured ? However, it was in vain that he sought
for words of prayer in the depths of his distracted being. He
was still under the blow of all the terrible things that he had
beheld, worn out with physical fatigue, his brain depressed,
no longer knowing what he saw or what he believed. His
desperate affection for Marie alone remained, making him
long to humble himself and supplicate, in the thought that
when little ones really love and entreat the powerful they end
FOUNTAIN AND PISCINA 157
by obtaining favours. And at last he eaught himself repeating
the prayers of the crowd, in a distressful voice that came
from the depths of his being : ' Lord, heal our sick ! Lord,
heal our sick ! '
Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour perhaps, went by. Then
Marie reappeared in her little conveyance. Her face was
very pale and wore an expression of despair. Her beautiful
hair was fastened above her head in a heavy golden coil
which the water had jiot touched. And she was not cured.
The stupor of infinite discouragement hollowed and length-
ened her face, and she averted her eyes as though to avoid
meeting those of the priest who, thunderstruck, chilled to the
heart, at last made up his mind to grasp the handle of the
little vehicle, so as to take the girl back to the Grotto.
And meantime the cry of the faithful, who with open arms
were kneeling there and kissing the earth, again rose with a
growing fury, excited by the Capuchin's shriU voice : ' Lord,
heal our sick ! Heal our sick, 0 Lord ! '
As Pierre was placing Marie in position again in front of the
Grotto, an attack of weakness came over her and she almost
fainted. Gerard, who was there, saw Eaymonde quickly
hurry to the spot with a cup of broth, and at once they began
zealously rivalling each other in their attentions to the ailing
girl. Eaymonde, holding out the cup in a pretty way, and
assuming the coaxing airs of an expert nurse, especially in-
sisted that Marie should accept the bouillon ; and Gerard,
glancing at this portioiHess girl, could not help finding her
charming, already expert in the business of life, and quite
ready to manage a household with a firm hand without ceas-
ing to be amiable. Berthaud was no doubt right, this was
the wife that he, Gerard, needed.
' Mademoiselle,' said he to Eaymonde, ' shall I raise the
young lady a little ? '
' Thank you, monsieur, I am quite strong enough. And
besides I will give it her in spoonfuls ; that will be the better
way.'
Marie, however, obstinately preserving her fierce sUenoe
as she recovered consciousness, refused the broth with a
gesture. She wished to be left in quietness, she did not want
anybody to question her. And it was only when the others
had gone off smiling at one another, that she said to Pierre
in a husky voice : ' Has not my father come then ? '
After hesitating for a moment the priest was obliged to
iS8 LOURDES
confess the truth. ' I left him sleeping and he cannot have
woke up.'
Then Marie relapsed into her state of languid stupor and
dismissed him in his turn, with the gesture with which she
declined all succour. She no longer prayed, but remained
quite motionless, gazing fixedly with her large eyes at the
marble Virgin, the white statue amidst the radiance of the
Grotto. Aid as four o'clock was now striking, Pierre with
his heart sore went off to the Verification Office, having
suddenly remembered the appointment given him by Doctor
Chassaigne.
IV
VERIFICATION
The doctor was waiting for the young priest outside the
Verification Office, in front of which a compact and feverish
crowd of pilgrims was assembled, waylaying and questioning
the patients who went in, and acclaiming them as they came
out whenever the news spread of any miracle, such as the
restoration of some blind man's sight, some deaf woman's
hearing, or some paralytic's power of motion.
Pierre had no little difficulty in making his way through
the throng, but at last he reached his friend. ' Well,' he
asked, ' are we going to have a miracle — a real, incontestable
one I mean ? ' .
The doctor smiled, indulgent despite his new faith. ' Ah,
well,' said he, ' a miracle is not worked to order. God inter-
venes when -He pleases.'
Some hospitallers were mounting guard at the door, but
they all knew M. Chassaigne, and respectfully drew aside
to let him enter with his companion. ' The office where the
cures were verified was very badly installed in a wretched
wooden shanty divided into two apartments, first a narrow
antechamber, and then a general meeting room which was by
no means so large as it should have been. However, there
was a question of providing the department with better
accommodation the following year; with which view some
large premises, under one of the inclined ways of the Eosary,
were already being fitted up.
The only article of furniture in the antechamber was a
wooden bench on which Pierre perceived two female patients
VERIFICATION 159
awaiting their turn in the charge of a young hospitaller. But
on entering the meeting room the number of persons packed
inside it quite surprised him, whilst the suffocating heat
within those wooden walls on which the sun was so fiercely
playing, almost scorched his face. It was a square bare
room, painted a light yellow, with the panes of its single
window covered with whitening, so that the pressing throng
outside might see nothing of what went on within. One
dared not even open this window to admit a litte fresh air,
for it was no sooner set ajar than a crowd of inquisitive
heads peeped in. The furniture was of a very rudimentary
kind, consisting simply of two deal tables of unequal height
placed end to end and not even covered with a cloth ; together
with a kind of big ' canterbury ' littered with untidy papers,
sets of documents, registers and pamphlets, and finally some
thirty rush-seated chairs placed here and there over the floor
and a couple of ragged arm-chairs usually reserved for the
patients.
Doctor Bonamy at once hastened forward to greet Doctor
Chassaigne, who was one of the latest and most glorious
conquests of the Grotto. He found a chair for bim and,
bowing to Pierre's cassock, also made the young priest sit
down. Then, in the tone of extreme pohteness which was
customary with him, he exclaimed : ' Mon clier confr&re, you
will kindly allow me to continue. We were just examining
mademoiselle.'
He referred to a deaf peasant girl of twenty, who was
seated in one of the arm-chairs. Instead of hstening, how-
ever, Pierre, who was very weary, still with a buzzing in his
head, contented himself with gazing at the scene, endeavour-
ing to form some notion of the people assembled in the room.
There were some fifty altogether, many of them standing and
leaning against the walls. Half a dozen, however, were seated
at the two tables, a central position being occupied by the
superintendent of the piscinas, who was constantly consulting
a thick register; whilst around him were a Father of the
Assumption and three young seminarists who acted as secre-
taries, writing, searching for documents, passing them and
classifying them again after each examination. Pierre, how-
ever, took most interest in a. Father of the Immaculate Con-
ception, Father Dargeles, who had been pointed out; to him
that morning as being the editor of the ' Journal de la Grotte.'
This ecclesiastic, whose thin little face, with its bUnking eyes.
i6o LOURDES
pointed nose, and delicate mouth was ever smiling, had
modestly seated himself at the end of the lower table where
he occasionally took notes for his newspaper. He alone, of
the community to which he belonged, showed himself during
the three days of the national pilgrimage. Behind him,
however, one could divine the presence of all the others, the
slowly developed hidden power which organised everything
and raked in all the proceeds.
The onlookers consisted almost entirely of inquisitive
people and witnesses, including a score of doctors and a few
priests. The medical men, who had come from all parts,
mostly preserved silence, only a few of them occasionally
venturing to ask a question ; and every now and then they
would exchange oblique glances, more occupied apparently in
watching one another than in verifying the facts submitted to
their examination. Who could they be ? Some names were
mentioned, but they were quite unknown. Only one had
caused any stir, that of a celebrated doctor professing at a
Catholic University.
That afternoon, however. Doctor Bonamy, who never sat
down, busy as he was conducting the proceedings and ques-
tioning the patients, reserved most of his attentions for a
short fair-haired man, a writer of some talent who contributed
to one of the most widely-read Paris newspapers, and who in
the course of a holiday tour, bad by chance reached Lourdes,
that morning. Was not this an unbehever whom it might be
possible to convert, whose influence it would be desirable to
gain for advertisement' sake ? Such at all events appeared
to be M. Bonamy's opinion, for he had compelled the jour-
nalist to take the second arm-chair, and with an affectation
of smiling good nature was treating him to a full performance,
again and again repeating that he and his patrons had nothing
to hide, and that everything took place in the most open
manner.
' We only desire light,' he exclaimed. ' We never cease to
call for the investigations of all willing men.'
Then, as the alleged cure of the deaf girl did not seem at
all a promising case, he addressed her somewhat roughly :
' Come, come, my girl, this is only a beginning. You must
come back when there are more distinct signs of improvement.'
And turning to th? journalist he added in an undertone : ' If
we were to believe them they would all be healed. But the
only cures we accept are those which are thoroughly proven,
VERIFICATION i6i
which are as apparent as the sun itself. Pray notice more-
over that I say cures and not miracles ; for we doctors do not
take upon ourselves to interpret and explain. We are simply
here to see if the patients, who submit themselves to our
examination, have really lost all symptoms of their ailments.'
Thereupon he struck an attitude. Doubtless he spoke like
this in order that his rectitude might not be called in ques-
tion. Believing without believing, he knew that science was
yet so obscure, so full of surprises, that what seemed im-
possible might always come to pass ; and thus, in the declining
years of his hfe, he had contrived to secure an exceptional
position at the Grotto, a position which had both its inconve-
niences and its advantages, but which, taken for all in aU, was
very comfortable and pleasant.
And now, in reply to a question from the Paris journalist,
he began to explain his mode of proceeding. Each patient
who accompanied the pilgrimage arrived provided with papers,
amongst which there was almost always a certificate of the
doctor who had been attending the case. At times even there
were certificates given by several doctors, hospital bulletins
and so forth — quite a record of the illness in its various stages.
And thus if a cure took place and the cured person came
forward, it was only necessary to consult his or her set of
documents in order to ascertain the nature of the ailment,
and then examination would show if that ailment had really
disappeared.
Pierre was now Ustening. Since he had been there, seated
and resting himself, he had grown calmer and his mind
was clear once more. It was only the heat which at present
caused him any inconvenience. And thus, interested as he
was by Doctor Bonamy's explanations, and desirous of forming
an opinion, he would have spoken out and questioned, had it not
been for his cloth which condemned him to remain in the
background. He was delighted, therefore when the Uttle fair-
haired gentleman, the influential writer, began to bring
forward the objections which at once occurred to him.* Was
it not most unfortunate that one doctor should diagnose the
iUness and that another one should verify the cure ? In this
mode of proceeding there was certainly a source of frequent
error. The better plan would have been for a medical com-
mission to examine all the patients as soon as they arrived at
* The reader will doubtless have understood that the Parisian jour-
nalist is pong other thgn M. ^pl» bijnself,— Tj-juns,
i62 LOURDES
Lourdes and draw up reports on every ease, to which reports
the same commission would have referred whenever an alleged
cure was brought before it. Doctor Bonamy, however, did not
fall in with this suggestion. He replied, with some reason,
that a commission would never sufiSce for such gigantic labour.
Just think of it ! A thousand patients to examine in a single
morning ! And how many^ different theories there would be,
how many contrary diagnoses, how many endless discussions,
all of a nature to increase the general uncertainty ! The pre-
liminary examination of the patients, which was almost always
impossible, would, even if attempted, leave the door open for
as many errors as the present system. In practice, it was
necessary to remain content vrith the certificates delivered by
the medical men who had been jn attendance on the patients,
and these certificates accordingly acquired capital, decisive
importance. Doctor Bonamy ran through the documents lying
on one of the tables and gave the Paris joumaUst some of
these certificates to read. A great many of them unfortu-
nately were very brief. Others, more BkUfully drawn up,
clearly specified the nature of the complaint ; and some of the
doctors' signatures were even certified by the mayors of the
localities where they resided. Nevertheless doubts remained,
innumerable and not to be surmounted. Who were these
doctors ? Who could tell if they possessed sufficient scientific
authority to write as they did ? With all respect to the
medical profession, were there not innumerable doctors whose
attainments were very limited ? And, besides, might not
these have been influenced by circumstances that one knew
nothing of, in some cases by considerations of a personal
character ? One was tempted to ask for an inquiry respecting
each of these medical men. Since everything was based ou
the documents supplied by the patients, these documents
ought to have been most carefully controlled ; for there could
be no proof of uny miracle if the absolute certainty of the
alleged aUmenta had not been demonstrated by stringent
examination.
Very red and covered with perspiration,, Doctor Bonamy
waved his arms. 'But that is the course we follow, that
is the course we follow ! ' said he. ' As soon as it seems
to us that a case of cure cannot be explained by natural
means, we institute a minute inquiry, we request the person
who has been cured to return here for further examination.
And as you can see we surround ourselves with all means bi
VERIFICATION 163
enlightenment. These gentlemen here, who are listening to
us, are nearly every one of them doctors who have come from
all parts of France. We always entreat them to express their
doubts if they feel any, to discuss the cases with us, and a
very detailed report of each discussion is drawn up. You
hear me, gentlemen, by all means protest if anything occurs
here of a nature to offend your sense of truth.'
Not one of the onlookers spoke. Most of the doctors
present were undoubtedly Catholics, and naturally enough
they merely bowed. As for the others, the unbelievers, the
savants pure and simple, they looked on and evinced some
interest in certain phenomena, but considerations of courtesy
deterred them from entering into discussions which they
knew would have been useless. When as men of sense their
discomfort became too great, and they felt themselves growing
angry, they simply left the room.
As nobody breathed a word, Doctor Bonamy became quite
triumphant, and on the journalist asking him if he were all
alone to accomplish so much work, he replied : ' Yps, all
alone ; but my functions as doctor of the Grotto are not so
complicated as you may think, for, I repeat it, they simply
consist in verifying cures whenever any take place.' How-
ever, he corrected himself, and added with a smile : ' Ah ! I
was forgetting, I am not quite alone, I have Eaboin, who
helps me to keep things a little bit in order here.'
So saying he pointed to a stout, grey-haired man of forty,
with a heavy face and bull-dog jaw. Eaboin was an ardent
behever, one of those excited beings who did not allow the
miracles to be called in question. And thus he often suffered
from his duties at the Verification Office, where he was ever
ready to growl with anger when anybody disputed a prodigy.
The appeal to the doctors had made him quite lose his temper,
and his superior had to calm him.
' Come, Eaboin, my friend, be quiet ! ' said Doctor Bonamy.
' All sincere opinions are entitled to a hearing.'
However, the defili of patients was resumed. A man was
now brought in whose trunk was so covered with eczema
that when he took off his shirt a kind of grey flour fell from
his skin. He was not cured, but simply declared that he
came to Lourdes every year, and always went away feeling
relieved.. Then came a lady, a countess, who was fearfully
emaciated, and whose story was an extraordinary one. Cured
of tuberculosis by the Blessed Virgin, a first time, seven years
le. 2
1 64 LOURDES
previously, ehe had subsequently given birth to four children,
and had then again fallen into consumption. At present she
was a morphinomaniac, but her first bath had already relieved
her s,o much, that she proposed taking part in the torchlight
procession that same evening with the twenty-seven members
of her family whom she had brought with her to Lourdes.
Then there was a woman afflicted with nervous aphonia, who
after months of absolute dumbne.w had just recovered her
voice at the moment when the Blessed Sacrament went by at
the head of the four o'clock procession.
' Gentlemen,' declared Doctor Bonamy, affecting the
graciousness of a savant of extremely Uberal views, ' as you
are aware, we do not draw any conclusions when a nervous
affection is in question. Still you will kindly observe that
this woman was treated at the Salpetri^re for six months,
and that she had to come here to find her tongue suddenly
loosened.'
Despite all these fine words he displayed some little
impatience, for he would have greatly Uked to show the
gentleman from Paris one of those remarkable instances of
cure which occasionally presented themselves during the four
o'clock procession — that being the moment of grace and
exaltation when the Blessed Virgin interceded for those whom
she had chosen. But on this particular afternoon there had
apparently been none. The cures which had so far passed
before them were doubtful ones, deficient in interest. Mean-
while, out of doors, you could hear the stamping and roaring
of the crowd, goaded into a frenzy by repeated hymns, en-
fevered by its earnest desire for the divine interposition, and
growing more and more enervated by the delay.
All at once, however, a smiling, modest-looking young
girl, whose clear eyes sparkled with intelligence, entered the
office. ' Ah ! ' exclaimed Doctor Bonamy joyously, ' here is
our little friend Sophie. A remarkable cure, gentlemen,
which took place at the same season last year, and the results
of which I wiU ask permission to show you.'
Pierre had immediately recognised Sophie Couteau, the
miracuUe who had got into the train at Poitiers. And he
now witnessed a repetition of the scene which had already
been acted in his presence. Doctor Bonamy began giving
detailed explanations to the little fair-haired gentleman, who
displayed great attention. The case, said the doctor, had
been Qpe of parjea of the bones of the left heel, with % codj-
VERIFICATION 165
mencement of necrosis necessitating excision ; and yet the
frightful, suppurating sore had been healed in a minute at the
first immersion in the piscina.
' Tell the gentleman how it happened, Sophie,' he added.
The Httle girl made her usual pretty gesture as a sign to
everybody to be attentive. And then she began : ' Well, it
■was like this ; my foot was past cure, I couldn't even go to
church any more, and it had to be- kept bandaged because
there was always a lot of matter coming from it. Monsieur
Eivoire, the doctor, who had made a out in it so as to see
inside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of
the bone ; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame
for life. But when I got to Lourdes, and had prayed a
great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I went to dip my foot in the
water, wishing so much that I might be cured, that I did not
even take the time to puU the bandages off, And everything
remained in the water, there was no longer anything the
matter with my foot when I took it out.'
Doctor Bonamy listened, and punctuated each word with
an approving nod. ' And what did your doctor say, Sophie ? '
he asked.
' When I got back to Vivonne, and Monsieur Eivoire saw
my foot again, he said ; " Whether it be God or the devil who
has cured this child, it is aU the same to me; but in all
truth, she is cured." '
A burst of laughter rang out. The doctor's remark was
sure to produce an effect.
' And what was it, Sophie, that you said to Madame la
Comtesse, the superintendent of your ward ? '
' Ah, yes ! I hadn't brought many bandages for my foot
with me, and I said to her, " It was very kind of the Blessed
Virgin to cure me the first day, as I should have run out of
linen on the morrow." '
Then there was fresh laughter, a general display of satis-
faction at seeing her look so pretty, telling her story, which
she now knew by heart, in too recitative a manner, but, never-
theless, remaining very touching and truthful in appearance.
' Take off your shoe, Sophie,' now said Doctor Bonamy ;
' show your foot to these gentlemen. Let them feel it. Nobody
must retain any doubt.'
The little foot promptly appeared, very white, very clean,
carefully tended indeed, with its scar just below the ankle, a
long scar, whose whity seam testified to the gravity of the
166 LOURDES
complaint. Some of the medical men had drawn near, and
looked on in silence. Others, whose opinions, no doubt, were
abeady formed, did not disturb themselves, though one of
them, with an air of extreme politeness, inquired why the
Blessed Virgin had not made a new foot while she was about
it, for this would assuredly have given her no more trouble.
Doctor Bonamy, however, quickly replied that if the Blessed
Virgin had left a scar, it was certainly in order that a trace, a
proof of the miracle, might remain. Then he entered into
technical particulars, demonstrating that a fragment of bone
and flesh must have been instantly formed, and this, of course,
could not be explained in any natural way.
' Mon Dieu I ' interrupted the little fair-haired gentleman,
'there is no need of any such complicated affair. Let me
merely see a finger cut with a penknife, let me see it dipped
in the water, and let it come out with. the cut cicatrised. The
miracle will be quite as great, and I shall "bow to it respect-
fully.' Then he added : ' If I possessed a source which could
thus close up sores and wounds, 'jjiyould turn the world
topsy-turvy. I do not know exactly ^6w I should manage it,
but at all events I would summon the nations, and the nations
would come. I should cause the miracles to be verified in such
an indisputable manner, that I should b6 the master of the
earth. Just think what an extraordinary power it would be
— a divine power. But it would be necessary that not a doubt
should remain, the truth would have to be as patent, as
apparent as the sun itself. The whole world would behold it
and believe ! '
Then he began discussing various methods of control
with the doctor. He had admitted that, owing to the great
number of patients, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to
examine them all on their arrival. Only, why didn't they
organise a special ward at the Hospital, a ward which would
be reserved for cases of visible sores ?, They would have thirty
such cases all told, which might be subjected to the prelimi-
nary examination of a committee. Authentic reports would
be drawn up, and the sores might even be photographed.
Then, if a case of cure should present itself, the commission
would merely have to authenticate it by a fresh report. And
in all this there would be no question of any internal com-
plaint, the diagnostication of which is difficult, and liable to be
controverted. There would be visible evidence of the ailment,
and cure could be proved.
VERIFICATION 167
Somewhat embarrassed, Doctor Bonamy replied : ' No
doubt, no doubt, all we ask for is enlightenment. The
difficulty would lie in forming the committee you speak of.
If you only knew how little medical men agree 1 However,
there is certainly an idea in what you say.'
Fortunately, a fresh patient now came to his assistance.
Whilst little Sophie Couteau, abeady forgotten, was putting
on her shoes again, Elise Bouquet appeared, and, removing
her wrap, displayed her diseased face to view. She related
that she had been bathing it with her handkerchief ever since
the morning, and it seemed to her that her sore, previously so
fresh and raw, was already beginning to dry and grow paler
in colour. This was true; Pierre noticed, with great sur-
prise, that the aspect of the sore was now less horrible. This
supplied fresh food for the discussion on visible sores, for the
little fair-haired gentleman clung obstinately to his idea of
organising a special ward. Indeed, said he, if the condition ot
this girl had" been verified that morning, and she should be
cured, what a triumph it would have been for the Grotto,
which could have claimed to have healed a lupus ! It would
then have no longer been possible to deny that miracles were
worked.
Doctor Chassaigne had so far kept in the background,
motionless and sUent, as though he desired that the facts
alone should exercise their influence on Pierre. But he now
leant forward and said to him in an undertone : ' Visible
sores, visible sores indeed! That gentleman can have no
idea that our most learned medical men suspect many of
these sores to be of nervous origin. Yes, we are discovering
that complauita of this kind are often simply due to bad
nutrition of the skin. These questions of nutrition are still
so imperfectly studied and understood! And some medical
men are also beginning to prove that the faith which heals
can even cure sores, certain forms of' lupus among others.
And so I would ask what certainty that gentleman would
obtain with his ward for visible sores ? There would simply
be a little more confusion and passion in arguing the eternal
question. No, no! Science is vain, it is a sea of un-
certainty.'
He smiled sorrowfully whilst Doctor Bonamy, after
advising Elise Bouquet to continue using the water as lotion
and to return each day for further examination, repeated
with bis prudent, affable air : ' At all events, gentlemen, there
i68 LOVRDES
are signs of improvement in this case — that is beyond
doubt.'
But all at once the office was fairly turned topsy-turvy by
the arrival of La Grivotte, who swept in like a whirlwind,
almost dancing with dehght and shouting in a full voice : ' I
am cured 1 I am cured ! '
And forthwith she began to relate that they had first of
all refused to bathe her, and that she had been obliged to
insist and beg and sob in order to prevail upon them to do so,
after receiving Father Fourcade's express permission. And
then it had all happened as she had previously said it would.
She had not been immersed in the icy water for three minutes
— all perspiring as she was, with her consumptive rattle —
before she had felt strength returning to her like a whipstroke
lashing her whole body. And now a fiaming excitement
possessed her ; radiant, stamping her feet, she was unable to
keep still.
' I am cured, my good gentlemen, I am cured ! '
Pierre looked at her, this time quite stupefied. Was this
the same girl whom, on the previous night, he had seen lying
on the carriage seat, annihilated, coughing and spitting blood,
with her face of ashen hue ? He could not recognise her as
she now stood there, erect and slender, her cheeks rosy, her
eyes sparkling, upbuoyed by a determination to live, a joy in
living already.
' Gentlemen,' declared Doctor Bonamy, ' the case appears
to me to be a very interesting one. We will see.'
Then he asked for the documents concerning La Grivotte.
But they could not be found among all the papers heaped
together on the two tables. The young seminarists who acted
as secretaries began turning everything over ; and the super-
intendent of the piscinas who sat in their midst himself had
to get up to see if these documents were in the ' canterbury.'
At last, when he had sat down again, he found them imder
the register which lay open before him. Among them were
three medical certificates which he read aloud. All three of
them agreed in stating that the case was one of advanced
phthisis, complicated by nervous incidents which invested it
with a peeuUar character.
Doctor Bonamy wagged his head as though to say that
such an ensemble of testimony could leave no room for doubt.
Forthwith, he subjected the patient to a prolonged ausculta-
tion. And he murmured : ' I hear nothing — I hear nothing.*
VEklFlCATtON 169
Then, correcting himself, he added : • At least I hear scarcely
anything.'
Finally he turned towards the five-and-twenty or thirty
doctors who were assembled there in silence. ' Will some of
you gentlemen,' he asked, ' kindly lend me the help of your
science ? "We are here to study and discuss these questions.'
At first nobody stirred. Then there was one who ventured
to come forward and in his turn subject the patient to auscul-
tation. But instead of declaring himself, he continued reflect-
ing, shaking his head anxiously. At last he stammered that in
his opinion one must await further developments. Another
doctor, however, at once took his place, and this one expressed
a decided opinion. He could hear nothing at all, that woman
could never have suffered from phthisis. Then others followed
him ; in fact, with the exception of five or six whose smiling
faces remained impenetrable, they aU joined the dijili. And
the confusion now attained its apogee; for each gave an
opinion sensibly differing from that of his colleagues, so that
a general uproar arose and one could no longer hear oneself
speak. Father Dargel^s alone retained the calmness of perfect
serenity, for he had scented one of those cases which impassion
people and redound to the glory of Our Lady of Lourdes. He
was already taking notes on a comer of the table.
Thanks to all the noise of the discussion, Pierre and Doctor
Ghassaigne, seated at some distance from the others, were
now able to talk together without being heard. ' Oh ! those
piscinas ! ' said the young priest, ' I have just seen them. To
think that the water should be so seldom changed ! What
filth it is, what a soup of microbes ! What a terrible blow
for the present day mania, that rage for antiseptic precau-
tions I How is it that some pestilence does not carry off all
these poor people ? The opponents of the microbe theory
must be having a good laugh '
M. Ghassaigne stopped him. ' No, no, my child,' said he.
' The baths may be scarcely clean, but they offer no danger.
Please notice that the temperature of the water never rises
above fifty degrees, and that seventy-seven are necessary for
the cultivation of germs.* Besides, scarcely any contagious
diseases come to Lourdes, neither cholera, nor typhus, nor
variola, nor measles, nor scarlatina. We only see certain
* The above are Fahrenheit degrees. In the original the figures are
10 and 25, but these are nndoubtedlj Centigrade degrees.— SVons.
I7P LOURDES
organic affections here,. paralysis, scrofula, tumours, ulcers and
abscesses, cancers and phthisis ; and the latter cannot be trans-
mitted by the water of the baths. The old sores which are
bathed have nothing to fear, and offer no risk of contagion.
I can assure you that on this point there is even no necessity
for the Blessed Virgin to intervene.'
' Then, in that case, doctor,' rejoined Pierre, ' when you
were practising, you would have dipped aU your patients in
icy water — women at no matter what season, rheumatic
patients, people suffering from diseases of the heart, con-
sumptives, and so on ? For instance, that unhappy girl, half
dead, and covered with sweat — ^would you have bathed her ? '
' Certainly not ! There are heroic methods of treatment
to which, in practice, one does not dare to have recourse. An
icy bath may undoubtedly kill a consumptive ; but do we
know, whether, in certain circumstances, it might not save
her ? I, who have ended by admitting that a supernatural
power is at work here, I willingly admit that some cures must
take place xmder natural conditions, thanks to that immersion
in cold water which seems to us idiotic and barbarous. Ah 1
the things we don't know, the things we don't know ! '
He was relapsing into his anger, liis hatred of science,
which he scorned since it had left him scared and powerless '
beside the deathbed of his wife and his daughter. ' You ask
for certainties,' he resumed, ' but assuredly it is not medicine
which will give you them. Listen for a moment to those
gentlemen and you will be ediffed. Is it not beautiful, all
that confusion in which so many opinions clash together?
Certainly there are ailments with which one is thoroughly
acquainted, even to the most minute details of their evolution ;
there are remedies also, the effects of which have been studied
vsdth the most scrupulous care ; but the thing that one does
not know, that one cannot know, is the relation of the remedy
to the ailment, for there are as many cases as there may be
patients, each liable to variation, so that experimentation
begins afresh every time. This is why the practice of
medicine remains an art, for there can be no experimental
finality in it. Cure always depends on chance, on some
fortunate circumstance, on some bright idea of the doctor's.
And so you will understand that all the people who come and
discuss here make me laugh when they talk about the
absolute laws of science. Where are those laws in medicine ?
I should like to have them shown to me ? '
VERIFICATION 171
He did not wish to say any more, but his passion carried
him away, so he went on : ' I told you that I had become a
behever — nevertheless, to speak the truth, I understand very
well why this worthy Doctor Bonamy is so little affected, and
why he continues calling upon doctors in all parts of the world
to come and study his miracles. The more doctors that might
come, the less likelihood there would be of the truth being
established in the inevitable battle between contradictory
diagnoses and methods of treatment. If men cannot agree
about a visible sore, they surely cannot do so about an internal
lesion the existence of which will be admitted by some, and
denied by others. And why then should not everything
become a miracle ? For, after all, whether the action comes
from nature or from some unknown power, medical men are,
as a rule, none the less astonished when an ilbiess terminates
in a manner which they have not foreseen. No doubt, too,
things are very badly organised here. Those certificates
from doctors whom nobody knows have no real value. All
documents ought to be stringently inquired into. But even
admitting any absolute scientific strictness, you must be very
simple, my dear child, if you imagine that a positive conviction
woiid be arrived at, absolute for one and all. Error is im-
planted in man, and there is no more difficult task than that
of demonstrating to universal satisfaction the most insignificant
truth.'
J-" iPierre had now begun to understand what was taking
\ place at Lourdes, the extraordinary spectacle which the world.
\had been witnessing for years, amidst the devout adoration of
some and the insulting laughter of others. Forces as yet but
imperfectly studied, of ^ which one was even ignorant, were
certainly at work — auto-suggestion, long prepared disturbance
of the nerves ; inspiriting influence of the journey, the prayers
and the hymns ; and especially the healing breath, the
unknown force which was evolved from the multitude, in the
acute crisis of faith. Thus it seemed to him anything but
intelligent to believe in trickery. The facts were both of a
much more lofty and much more simple nature.' There was
no occasion for the Fathers of the Grotto to descend to false-
hood ; it was sufficient that they should help in creating
confusion, that they should utilise the universal ignorance.
It might even be admitted that everybody acted in good faith
— ^the doctors void of genius who delivered the certificates,
the consoled patients who believed themselves cured, and the
172 LOURDES \
impassioned witnesses ■who swore that they had behel^vhai
they described. And from all this was evolved the ob^ous
impossibility of proving whether there was a miracle or not.
And such being the case, did not the miracle naturally
become a reality for the greater number, for aU those mio
Buffered and who had need of hope ?
Then, as Doctor Bonamy, who had noticed that they w£ 'e
chatting apart, came up to them, Pierre ventured to inquiri :
' What is about the proportion of the cures to the number )f
cases ? '
' About ten per cent.,' answered the doctor ; and reading
in the young priest's eyes the words that he could not utter,
he added in a very cordial way : ' Oh ! there would be mamy
more, they would all be cured if we chose to listen to them.
But it is as well to say it, I am only here to keep an eye on
the miracles, like a policeman as it were. My only funoiions
are to check excessive zeal, and to prevent holy things
from being made ridiculous. In one word this office is
simply an office where a visa is given when the cures have
been verified and seem real ones.'
He was interrupted, however, by a low growl. Eaboin
was growing angry : ' The cures verified, the cures verified,'
he muttered. ' What is the use of that ? There is no pause
in the working of the miracles. What is the use of verifying
them, so far as beHevers are concerned ? They merely have
to bow down and believe. And what is the use too, as
regards the unbehevers ? Tlmy will never be convinced. The
work we do here is so much foohshness.'
Doctor Bonamy severely ordered him to hold his tongue.
' You are a rebel, Eaboin,' said he ; ' I shall tell Father
Capdebarthe that I won't have you here any longer since you
pass your time in sowing disobedience.'
Nevertheless, there was truth in what had just been said
by this man, who so promptly showed his teeth, eager to bite
whenever his faith was assailed ; and Pierre looked at him
with sympathy. AU the work of the Verification Office —
work anything but well performed — was indeed useless, for it
wounded the feelings of the pious, and failed to satisfy the
incredulous. Besides, can a miracle be proved? No, you
must believe in it I When God is pleased to intervene it is
not for man to try to understand. In the ages of real
belief Science did not make any meddlesome attempt to
explain the nature of the Divinity. And why should it come
VERIFICATION 173
and interfere here ? By doing so, it simply hampered faith
and diminished its own prestige. No, no, there must be no
Science, you must throw yourself upon the ground, kiss it
and believe. Or else you must take yourself off. No com-
promise was possible. If examination once began it must go
on, and must, fatally, conduct to doubt.
Pierre's greatest sufferings, however, came from the extra-
ordinary conversations which he heard around him. There
were some believers present who spoke of the miracles with
the most amazing ease and tranquillity. The most stupefying
stories left their serenity entire. Another miracle and yet
another ! And with smiles on their faces, their reason never
protesting, they went on relating such imaginings as could
only have come from diseased brains. They were evidently
living in such a state of visionary fever that nothing hence-
forth could astonish them. And not only did Pierre notice
this among folks of simple, childish minds, illiterate, hal-
lucinated creatures like Eaboin, but also among the men of
intellect, the men with cultivated brains, the savants like
Doctor Bonamy and others. It was incredible. And thus
Pierre felt a growing discomfort arising within him, a covert V
anger which would doubtless end by bursting forth. His
reason was struggling, like that of some poor wretch who after
being flung into a river, feels the waters seize him from all
sides and stifle him ; and he reflected that the minds which,
like Doctor Chassaigne's, sink at last into blind belief, must
pass through this same discomfort and struggle before the
final shipwreck.
He glanced at his old friend and saw how sorrowful he
looked, struck down by destiny, as weak as a crying chUd, and
henceforth quite alone in life. Nevertheless, he was unable
to check the cry of protest which rose to his lips : ' No, no, if
we do not know everything, even if we shall never know
everything, there is no reason why we should leave off learning.
It is wrong that the Unknown should profit by man's debility
and ignorance. On the contrary, the eternal hope should be
that the things which now seem inexplicable will some day
be explained ; and we cannot, under healthy conditions, have
any other ideal than this march towards the discovery of the
unknown, this victory slowly achieved by reason amidst all the
miseries both of the flesh and of the mind. Ah ! reason — it
is my reason which makes me sufffer, and it is from my reason
too thai) I await all my strength, 'VVhen reason dies, the
r74 LOURDES
whole being perishes. And I feel but an ardent thirst to
satisfy my reason more and more, even though I may lose all
happiness in doing so.'
Tears were appearing in Doctor Ohassaigne's eyes ;
doubtless the memory of Ms dear dead ones had again flashed
upon him. And, in his turn, he murmured : ' Eeason, reason,
yes, certainly it is a thing to be very proud of; it embodies
the very dignity of life. But there is love, which is life's
omnipotence, the one blessing to be won again when you have
lost it.'
His voice sank in a stifled sob ; and as in a mechanical
way he began to finger the sets of documents lying on the
table, he espied among them one whose cover bore the name
of Marie de Guersaiat in large letters. He opened it and
read the certificates of the two doctors who had inferred that
the case Was one of paralysis of the marrow. ' Come, my
child,' he then resumed, ' I know that you feel warm affection
for Mademoiselle de Guersaint. What should you say if she
were cured here ? There are here some certificates, bearing
honourable names, and you know that paralysis of this nature
is virtually incurable. .Well, if this young person should aU
at once run and jump about as I have seen so many others
do, would you not feel very happy, would you not at last
acknowledge the intervention of a supernatural power ? '
Pierre was about to reply, when he suddenly remembered
his cousin Beauclair's expression of opinion, the prediction
that the miracle would come about hke a lightning stroke, an
awakening, an exaltation of the whole being ; and he felt his
discomfort increase and contented himself with replying:
' Yes, indeed, I should be very happy. And you are right ;
there is doubtless only a determination to secm-e happiness in
all the agitation one beholds here.'
However, he could remain in that office no longer. The
heat was becoming so great that perspiration streamed down
the faces of those present. Doctor Bonamy had begun to
dictate a report of the examination of La Grivotte to one of
the seminarists, while Father Dargeles, watchful with regard
to the expressions employed, occasionally rose and whispered
in his ear so as to make him modify some sentence. Mean-
time, the tumult around them was continuing ; the discussion
among the medical men had taken another turn and now bore
on certain technical points of no significance with regard
to the case in question. You could no longer breathe within
VERIFICATION iTi^
those wooden walls, nausea was upsetting every heart and
every head. The little fair-haired gentleman, the influential
writer from Pari^, had already gone away, quite vexed at not
having seen a real miracle.
Pierre thereupon said to Doctor Chassaigne, 'Let us go; I
shall be taken ill if I stay here any longer.'
They left the office at the same time as La Grivotte, who
was at last being dismissed. And as soon as they reached the
door they found themselves caught in a torrential, surging,
jostling crowd, which was eager to behold the girl so miracu-
lously healed ; for the report of the miracle must have already
spread, and one and all were struggling to see the chosen one,
question her and touch her. And she, with her empurpled
cheeks, her flaming eyes, her dancing gait, could do nothing
but repeat, ' I am cm-ed, I am cured ! '
Shouts drowned her voice, she herself was submerged,
carried off amidst the eddies of the throng. For a moment
one lost sight of her as though she had sunk in those tumul-
tuous waters ; then she suddenly reappeared close to Pierre
and the doctor, who endeavoured to extricate her from the
crush. They had just perceived the Commander, one of whose
manias was to come down to the pisciaas and the Grotto in
order to vent his anger there. With his frock-coat tightly
girding him in military fashion, he was, as usual, leaning on
his silver-knobbed walking-stick, sUghtly dragging his left leg,
which his second attack of paralysis had stiffened. And his
face reddened and his eyes flashed with anger when La Grivotte,
pushing him aside in order that she might pass, repeated
amidst the wild enthusiasm of the crowd, ' I am cured, I am
cured ! '
' Well ! ' he cried, seized with sudden fury, ' so much the
worse for you, my girl 1 '
Exclamations arose, folks began to laugh, for he was well
known, and his maniacal passion for death was forgiven him.
However, when he began stammering confused words, saying
that it was pitiful to desire hfe when one was possessed of
neither beauty nor fortune, and that this girl ought, to "have
preferred to die at once rather than suffer again, people began
to growl around him, and Abb6 Judaine, who was passing,
had to extricate him from his trouble. The priest drew him
away. ' Be quiet, my friend, be quiet,' he said. ' It is scan-
dalous. Why do you rebel like this against the goodness of
God who occasionally shows His compassion for our sufferings
176 LOURDES
by alleviating them ? I tell you again that you yourself ought
to fall on your knees and beg Him to restore to you the use of
your leg and let you hve another ten years.'
The Commander almost choked with anger. ' What ! ' he
replied, ' ask to live for another ten years, when my finest day
will be the day I die I Show myself as spiritless, as cowardly
as the thousands of patients whom I see pass along here,
full of a base terror of death, shrieking aloud their weakness,
their passion to remain aUve I Ah ! no, I should feel too
much contempt for myself. I want to die ! — to die at once 1
It will be so delightful to be no more.'
He was at last out of the scramble of the pilgrims, and
again found himself near Doctor Chassaigne and Pierre on the
bank of the Gave. And he addressed himself to the doctor,
whom he often met : ' Didn't they try to restore a dead man
to hfe just now ? ' he asked ; ' I was told of it — it almost suf-
focated me. Eh, doctor ? You understand ? That man was
happy enough to be dead, and they dared to dip him in their
water in the criminal hope of making him live again ! But
suppose they had succeeded, suppose their water had animated
that poor devil once more — for one never knows what may
happen in this funny world — don't you think that the man
would have had a perfect right to spit his anger in the face of
those corpse-menders ? .Had he asked them to awaken him ?
How did they know if he were not well pleased at being dead ?
Folks ought to be consulted at any rate. Just picture them
playing the same vile trick on me when I at last fall into the
great deep sleep. Ah ! I would give them a nice reception.
" Meddle with what concerns you," I should say, and you
may be sure I should make all haste to die again ! '
He looked so singular in the fit of rage which had come
over him that Abb6 Judaine and the doctor could not help
smiling. Pierre, however, remained grave, chilled by the great
quiver which swept by. Were not those words he had just
heard the despairing imprecations of Lazarus? He had
often imagined Lazarus emerging from the tomb and crying
aloud : ' Why hast Thou again awakened me to this abomi-
nable life, 0 Lord ? I was sleeping the eternal, dreamless
sleep so deeply; I was at last enjoying such sweet repose
amidst the delights of Nihihty 1 I had known every wretched-
ness and every dolour, treachery, vain hope, defeat, sickness ;
as one of the living I had paid my frightful debt to suffering,
(gr I wap born without knowing why, a,nd I lived without
VERIFICATION 1^7
knowing how ; &,nd now, behold, 0 Lord, Thou requirest me
to pay my debt yet again ; Thou condemnest me to serve my
term of punishment afresh ! Have I then been guilty of some
inexpiable transgression that thou shouldst inflict such cruel
chastisement upon me ? Alas ! to Uve again, to feel oneself
die a Uttle in one's flesh each day, to have no inteUigence save
such as is required in order to doubt ; no will, save such as
one must have to be unable ; no tenderness, save such as is
needed to weep over one's own sorrows. Yet it was past, I
had crossed the terrifying threshold of death, I had known
that second which is so horrible that it suffieeth to poison the
whole of life. I had felt the sweat of agony cover me with
moisture, the blood flow back from my limbs, my breath for-
sake me, flee away in a last gasp. And Thou ordainest that
I should know this distress a second time, that I should die
twice, that my human misery should exceed that of all man-
kind. Then may it be even now, 0 Lord ! Yes, I entreat
Thee, do also this great miracle ; may I once more lay myself
down in this grave, and again fall asleep without suffering
from the interruption of my eternal slumber. Have mercy
upon me, and forbear from inflicting on me the torture of living
yet again ; that torture which is so frightful that Thou hast
never inflicted it on any being. I have always loved Thee
and served Thee ; and I beseech Thee do not make of me the
greatest example of Thy wrath, a cause of terror unto all
generations. But show unto me Thy gentleness and loving
kindness, 0 Lord ! restore unto me the slumber I have earned,
and let me sleep once more amid the delights of Thy nihility,'
While Pierre was pondering in this vrise, Abbe Judaine
bad led the Commander away, at last managing to calm him ;
and now the young priest shook hands with Doctor Chassaigne,
recollecting that it was past iive o'clock, and that Marie must
be waiting for him. On his way back to the Grotto, however,
he encountered the Abbe Des Hermoises deep in conversation
with M. de Guersaint, who had only just left his room at the
hotel, and was quite enlivened by his good nap. He and his
companion were admiring the extraordinary beauty which the
fervour of faith imparted to some women's countenances,
and they also spoke of their projected trip to the Cirque de
Gavarnie.
On learning, however, that Marie had taken a first bath
with no effect, M. de Guersaint at once followed Pierre.
Ihey found the poor girl still in the same painful stupor,
N
178 LOVRDES
with her eyes still fixed on the Blessed Virgin who had not
deigned to hear her. She did not answer the loving words
which her father addressed to her, but simply glanced at him
with her large, distressful eyes, and then again turned them
upon the marble statue which looked so white amid the
radiance of the tapers. And whilst Pierre stood waiting to
take her back to the Hospital, M. de Guersaint devoutly fell
upon his knees. At first he prayed with passionate ardour
for his daughter's cure, and then he solicited, on his own
behalf, the favour of finding some wealthy person who would
provide him with the million of francs that he needed for his
studies on aerial navigation.
V
beenadette's tisials
About eleven o'clock that night-, leaving M. de Guersaint in
his room at the Hotel of the Apparitions, it occurred to Pierre
to return for a moment to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours
before going to bed himself. He had left Marie in such a de-
spairing state, so fiercely silent, that he was full of anxiety about
her. And when he had asked for Madame de JonquiSre at the
door of the Sainte-Honorine Ward he became yet more anxious,
for the news was by no means good. The yoimg girl, said the
.Superintendent, had not even opened her mouth. She would
/answer nobody, and had even refused to eat. Madame de
/ Jbnqui^re insisted therefore that Pierre should come iu.
/ True, the presence of men was forbidden in the women's
I wards at night-time, but then a priest is not a man.
V ' She only cares for you and will only Usten to you,' said
ihe worthy lady. ' Pray come in and sit down near her till
Abb6 Judaine arrives. He will come at about one in the
morning to administer the communion to our more afflicted
sufferers, those who cannot move and who have to eat at day-
break. You will be able to assist him.'
Pierre thereupon followed Madame de Jonqui&re, who
installed him at the head of Marie's bed. ' My dear child,'
she said to the girl, ' I have brought you somebody who is
very fond of you. You will be able to chat with lum, and
you will be reasonable now, won't you ? '
Marie, however, on recognising Pierre, gazed at him with
BERNADETTE'S TRIALS 179
an air of exasperated suffering, a black, stern expression of
revolt.
' Would you like him to read something to you,' resumed
Madame de Jonqui^re, ' something that would ease and con-
sole you, as he did in the train ? No ? It wouldn't interest
you, you don't care for it ? Well, we will see by-and-by. I
will leave him with you, and I am sure you wiU be quite
reasonable again in a few minutes.'
Pierre then began speaking to her in a low voice, saying
all the kind consoling things that his heart could thinl: of,
and entreating her not to allow herself to sink into such
despair. If the Blessed Virgin had not cured her on the first
day, it was because she reserved her for some conspicuous
miracle. But he spoke in vain. Marie had turned her head
away, and did, not even seem to listen as she lay there with a
bitter expression on her mouth and a gleam of irritation in
her eyes which wandered away into space. Accordingly he
ceased speaking and began to gaze at the ward around him.
The spectacle was a frightful one. Never before had such
a nausea of pity and terror affected his heart. They had long
since dined, nevertheless plates of food which had been
brought up from the kitchens stiU lay about the beds ; and
all through the night there were some who ate whilst others
continued restlessly moaning, asking to be turned over or
helped out of bed. As the hours went by a kind of vague
delirium seemed to come upon almost all of them. Very few
were able to sleep quietly. Some had been undressed and
were lying between the sheets, but the greater number were
simply stretched out on the beds, it being so difficult to get
their clothes off that they did not even change their linen
during the five days of the pilgrimage. In the semi-obscurity,
moreover, the obstruction of the ward seemed to have in-
creased. To the fifteen beds ranged along the walls and the
seven mattresses filling the central "space, some fresh pallets
had been added, and on all sides there was a confused litter
of ragged garments, old baskets, boxes and valises. Indeed,
you no longer knew where to step. Two smoky lanterns shed
but a dim light upon this encampment of dying women, in
which a sickly smell prevailed ; for, instead of any freshness,
merely the heavy heat of the August night came in through
the two windows which had been left ajar. Nightmare-like
shadows and cries sped to and fro, peopling this inferno,
amidst the nocturnal agony of all the accumulated suffering.
k2
i8o LOURDES
However, Pierre recognised Eaymonde, who, her duties over,
had come to kiss her mother, before going to sleep in one
of the garrets reserved to the Sisters of the Hospital. For her
own part, Madame de Jonqui^re, taking her functions to heart,"
did not close her eyes during the three nights spent at Lourdes.
She certainly had an armchair in which to rest herself, but
she never sat down in it for a moment without being dis-
turbed. It must be admitted that she was bravely seconded
by little Madame Desagneaux, who displayed such enthusiastic
zeal that Sister Hyacinthe asked her with a smile : ' Why
don't you take the vows ? ' whereupon she responded, vnth an
air of scared surprise : ' Oh ! I can't, I'm married, you know,
and I'm very fond of my husband.' As for Madame Volmar,
she had not even shown herself; but it was alleged that
Madame de Jonquiere had sent her to bed on hearing her
complain of a Rightful headache. And this had put Madame
Desagneaux in quite a temper ; for, as she sensibly enough
remarked, a person had no business to offer to nurse the sick
when the slightest exertion exhausted her. She herself, how-
ever, at last began to feel her legs and arms aching, though
she would not admit it, but hastened to every patient whom
she heard calling, ever ready to lend a helping hand. In
Paris she would have rung for a servant rather than have
moved a candlestick herself ; but here she was ever coming
and going, bringing and emptying basins, and passing her
arms around patients to hold them up, whilst Madame de
Jonquiere sHpped pillows behind them. However, shortly
after eleven o'clock, she was all at once overpowered. Having
imprudently stretched herself in the armchair for a moment's
rest, she there fell soundly asleep, her pretty head sinking on
one of her shoulders amidst her lovely, wavy fair hair, which
was all in disorder. And from that moment neither moan nor
call, indeed no sound whatever, could waken her.
Madame de Jonquiere, however, had softly approached the
young priest again. ' I had an idea,' said she in a low voice,
' of sending for Monsieur Ferrand, the house-surgeon, you
know, who accompanies us. He would have given the poor
girl something to calm her. Only he is busy downstairs
trying to relieve Brother Isidore, in the Family Ward. Be-
sides, as you know, we are not supposed to give medical
attendance here ; our work consists in placing our dear sick
ones in the hands of the Blessed Virgin.'
Sister Hyacinthe, who had made up her mind to spenc|
BERNADETTE'S TRIALS i8i
the night ■with the Superintendent, now drew near. ' I have
just come from the Family Ward.' she said ; ' I went to take
Monsieur Sahathier some oranges which I had promised
him, and I saw Monsieur Ferrand, who had just succeeded in
reviying Brother Isidore. Would you like me to go down and
fetch him ? '
But Pierre declined the ofifer. ' No, no,' he replied, ' Marie
will be sensible. I will read her a few consoling pages by-and-
by, and then she will rest.'
For the moment, however, the girl still remained obsti-
nately silent. One of the two lanterns was hanging from the
wall close by, and Pierre could distinctly see her thin face,
rigid and motionless Uke stone. Then, farther away, in the
adjoining bed, he perceived Elise Eouquet, who was sound
asleep and no longer wore her fichu, but openly displayed
her face, the ulcerations of which still continued to grow
paler. And on the young priest's left hand was Madame
Vetu, now greatly weakened, in a hopeless state, unable to
doze off for a moment, shaken as she was by a continuous
rattle. He said a few kind words to her, for which she thanked
him with a nod ; and, gathering her remaining strength to-
gether, she was at last able to say : ' There were several cures
to-day ; I was very pleased to hear of them.'
On a mattress at the foot of her bed was La Grivotte, who
in a fever of extraordinary activity kept on sitting up to re-
peat her favourite phrase : ' I am cured. I am cured.' And
she went on to relate that she had eaten half a fowl for dinner,
she who had been unable to eat for long months past. Then,
too, she had followed the torchlight procession on foot during
nearly a couple of hours, and she would certainly have danced
till daybreak had the Blessed Virgin only been pleased to give
a ball. And once more she repeated : ' I am cured, yes, cured,
quite cured.'
Thereupon Madame Vetu found enough strength to say with
childlike serenity and perfect, gladsome abnegation : ' The
Blessed Virgin did well to cure her since she is poor. I am
better pleased than if it had been myself, for I have my little
shop to depend upon and can wait. We each have our turn,
each our turn.'
One and all displayed a Uke charity, a like pleasure that
others should have been cured. Seldom, indeed, was any
jealousy shovra; they surrendered themselves to a kind of
epidemical beatitude, to a contagious hope that they would all
IS2 LOURDES
be cured whenever it should so please the Blessed Virgin.
And it was necessary that she should not be offended by any
undue impatience ; for assuredly she had her reasons and
knew right weU. why she began by healing some rather than
others. Thus, with the fraternity born of common suffering
and hope, the most grievously afllicted patients prayed for the
cure of their neighbours. None of them ever despaired, each
fresh miracle was the promise of another one, of the one
which would be worked on themselves. Their faith remained
nnshakeable. A story was told of a paralytic woman, some
farm servant, who with extraordinary strength of will had
contrived to take a few steps at the Grotto, and who while
being conveyed back to the Hospital had asked to be set down
that she might return to the Grotto on foot. But she had
gone only half the distance when she had staggered, panting
and livid ; and on being brought to the Hospital on a stretcher
she had died there, cured, Jiowever, said her neighbours in
the ward. Each, indeed, had her turn ; the Blessed Virgin
forgot none of her dear daughters unless it were her design
to grant some chosen one immediate admission into Para-
dise.
All at once, at the moment when Pierre was leaning
towards her, again offering to read to her, Marie burst into
furious sobs. Letting her head fall upon her friend's shoulder,
elie vented aU her rebellion in a low, terrible voice, amidst
the vague shadows of that awful room. She had experienced
what seldom happened to her, a collapse of faith, a sadden
loss of courage, all the rage of the suffering being who can no
longer wait. Such was her despair, indeed, that she even
became sacrilegious.
'No, no,' she stammered, 'the Virgin is cruel; she is
unjust, for she did not cure me just now. Yet I felt so cer-
tain that she would grant my prayer, I had prayed to her so
fervently. I shall never be cured, now that the first day is
past. It was a Saturday, and I was convinced that I should
be cured on a Saturday. I did not want to speak — and oh I
prevent me, for my heart is too full, and I might say more
than I ought to do.'
With fraternal hands he had quickly taken hold of her
head, and he was endeavouring to stifle the cry of her rebel-
lion. ' Be quiet, Marie, I entreat you ! It woiild never do
for anyone to hear you — you so pious I Do you want to
scandalise every soul ? '
BERNADETTE'S TRIALS 183
^ut in spite of her efforts she was unable to keep silence.
' I should stifle, I must speak out,' she said. ' I no longer
love her, no longer believe in her. The tales which are
related here are all falsehoods ; there is nothing, she does not
even exist, since she does not hear when one speaks to her,
and sobs. If you only knew all that I said to her ! Oh ! I
want to go away at once. Take me away, carry me away in
your arms, so that I may go and die in the street, where the
passers-by, at least, wiU take pity on my sufferings ! '
She was growing weak again, and had once more fallen on
her back, stammering, talking childishly. ' Besides, nobody
loves me,' she said. ' My father was not even there. And
you, my friend, forsook me. When I saw that it was another
who was taking me to the piscinas, I began to feel a chill.
Yes, that chill of doubt which I often felt in Paris. And that
is at least certain, I doubted — perhaps, indeed, that is why she
did not ciure me. I cannot have prayed well enough, I am not
pious enough, no doubt.'
She was no longer blaspheming, but seeking for excuses
to explain the non-intervention of Heaven. However, her face
retained an angry expression amidst this struggle which she
was waging with the supreme power, that power which she
had loved so well and entreated so fervently, but which had
not obeyed her. When, on rare occasions, a fit of rage of this
description broke out iu the ward, and the sufferers, lying on
their beds, rebelled against their fate, sobbing and lamenting,
and at times even swearing, the lady-hospitallers and the
Sisters, somewhat shocked, would content themselves with
simply closing the bed-curtains. Grace had departed, one
must await its return. And at last, sometimes after long
hours, the rebellious complaints woidd die away, and peace
would reign again amidst the deep, woeful silence.
' Calm yourself, calm yourself, I implore you,' Pierre
gently repeated to Marie, seeing that a fresh attack was
coming upon her, an attack of doubt in herself, of fear that
she was unworthy of the divine assistance.
Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had again drawn near. • You
will not be able to take the sacrament by-and-by, my dear
child,' said she, ' if you continue in such a state. Come,
since we have given Monsieur I'Abb^ permission to read to
you, why don't you let him do so ? '
Marie made a feeble gesture as though to say that she
consented, and Pierre at once took out of the valise at the foot
i84 LOURDES
of her bed, the little blue-covered book in which the stoiy of
Bernadette was so naively related. As on the previous night,
however, when the train was rolling on, he did not confine
himself to the bald phraseology of the book, but began
improvising, relating all manner of details in his own fashion,
in order to charm the simple folks who listened to him.
Nevertheless, with his reasoning, analytical proclivities, he
could not prevent himself from secretly re-establishing the
real facts, imparting, for himself alone, a human character to
this legend, whose wealth of prodigies contributed so greatly
to the cure of those that suffered. Women were soon sitting
up on all the surrounding beds. They wished to hear the con-
tinuation of the story, for the thought of the sacrament
which they were passionately awaiting had prevented almost
all of them from getting to sleep. And seated there, in the
pale light of the lantern hanging from the wall above him,
Pierre little by httle raised his voice, so that he might be
heard by the whole ward.
' The persecutions began with the very first miracles.
Called a liar and a lunatic, Bernadette was threatened with
imprisonment. Abbe Peyramale, the parish priest of Lourdes,
and Monseigneur Laurence, Bishop of Tarbes, like the rest of
the clergy, refrained from all intervention, waiting the course
of events with the greatest prudence ; whilst the civil autho-
rities, the Prefect, the Public Prosecutor, the Mayor, and the
Commissary of Police, indulged in excessive anti-reUgious zeal.'
Continuing his perusal in this fashion, Pierre saw the real
story rise up before him with invincible force. His mind
travelled a short distance backward and he beheld Bernadette
at the time of the first apparitions, so candid, so charming
in her ignorance and good faith, amidst all her sufferings.
And she was truly the visionary, the saint, her face assuming
an expression of superhuman beauty during her crises of
'efcstasy. Her brow beamed, her features seemed to ascend,
her eyes were bathed with light, whilst her parted lips burnt
with divine love. And then her whole person became ma-
jestic ; it was in a slow, stately way that she made the sign
of the cross, with gestures which seemed to embrace the
\whole horizon. The neighbouring valleys, the villages, the
towns, spoke of Bernadette alone. Although the Lady had
not yet told her name, she was recognised, and people said,
' It is she, the Blessed Virgin.' On the first market-day, so
many people flocked into Lourdes that the town quite over-
BERNADETTE'S TRIALS 185
flowed. All wished to see the blessed child whom the Queen
of the Angels had chosen, and who became so beautiful when
the heavens opened to her enraptured gaze. The crowd on
the banks of the Gave grew larger each morning, and
thousands of people ended by installing themselves there,
jostling one another that they might lose nothing of the
spectacle ! As soon as Bernadette appeared, a murmur of
fervour spread : ' Here is the saint, the saint, the saint ! '
Folks rushed forward to kiss her garments. She was a
Messiah, the eternal Messiah whom the nations await, and the
need of whom is ever arising from generation to generation.
And, moreover, it was ever the same adventure beginning
afresh : an apparition of the Virgin to a shepherdess ; a voice
exhorting the world to penitence ; a spring gushing forth ;
and miracles astonishing and enrapturing the crowds that
hastened to the spot in larger and larger numbers.
Ah ! those first miracles of Lourdes, what a springtide
flowering of consolation and hope they brought to the hearts
of the wretched, upon whom poverty and sickness were prey-
ing I Old Bourriette's restored eyesight, little Bouhohort'a
resuscitation in the icy water, the deaf recovering their hear-
ing, the lame suddenly enabled to walk, and so many other
cases, Blaise Maumus, Bernade Soubies,*' Auguste Bordes,
Blaisette Soupenne, Benoite Cazeaux, in turn cured of the
most dreadful ailments, became the subject of endless con-
versations, and fanned the illusions of all those who suffered
either in their hearts or their flesh. On Thursday, March 4,
the last day of the fifteen visits solicited by the Virgin, there
were more than twenty thousand persons assembled before the
Grotto. Everybody, indeed, had come down from the moun-
tains. And this immense throng found at the Grotto the
divine food that it hungered for, a feast of the Marvellous, a
sufficient meed of the Impossible to content its behef in a
superior power, which deigned to bestow some attention upon
poor folks, and to intervene in the wretched affairs of this
lower world, in order to re-establish some measure of justice
and kindness. It was, indeed, the cry of heavenly charity
bursting forth, the invisible helping hand stretched out at last
to dress the eternal sores of humanity. Ah 1 that dream in
• I give this name as written by M. Zola ; but in other works on
TJourdes I find it given as ' Bernarde Loubie— a bed-ridden old woman,
cured of a, paralytic affection by drinking the water of the Grotto.' — Trans,
iS6 LOURDES
which each successive generation sought refuge, with what
indestructible energy did it not arise among the disinherited
ones of this world as soon as it found a favourable spot, pre-
pared by circumstances 1- And for centuries, perhaps, circum-
stances had never so combined to kindle the mystical fire of
faith as they did at Lourdes.
A new religion was about to be founded, and persecutions
M once began, for religions only spring up amidst vexations
/and rebellions. And even as it was long ago at Jerusalem,
when the tidings of mu-acles spread, the civil authorities — the
Public Prosecutor, the Justice of the Peace, the Mayor, and
particularly the Prefect of Tarbes — were all roused and began
to bestir themselves. The Prefect was a sincere Cathohc, a
worshipper, a man of perfect honour, but he also had the
firm mind of a public functionary, was a passionate defender
of order, and a declared adversary of fanaticism which gives
birth to disorder and rehgious perversion. Under his orders
at Lourdes there was a Commissary of Police, a man of great
intelligence and shrewdness, who had hitherto discharged his
functions in a very proper way, and who, legitimately enough,
beheld in this affair of the apparitions an opportunity to put
his gift of sagacious skiU. to the proof. So the struggle began,
and it was this Commissary who, on the first Sunday in Lent,
at the time of the first apparitions, summoned Bernadette to
his office in order that he might question her. He showed
himself affectionate, then angry, then threatening, but aU in
vain ; the answers which the girl gave him were ever the
same. The story which she related, with its slowly accumu-
lated details, had little by httle irrevocably implanted itself
in her infantile mind. And it was no lie on the part of this
poor suffering creature, this exceptional ■yiotimjjfJiysteria, but
an imconscious haunting, a radical lack of will-power to free
herself from her original hallucination. She knew not how
to exert any such will, she could not, she would not exert it.
Ah ! the poor child, the dear child, so amiable and so gentle,
so incapable of any evil thought, from that time forward lost
to hfe, crucified by her fixed idea, whence one could only have
extricated her by changing her environment, by restoring her
to the open air, in some land of dayhght and human affection.
But she was the chosen one, she had beheld the Virgin, she
would suffer from it her whole Ufe long, and die from it at
last!
Pierre, who knew Bernadette so well, and who felt a fra-
SERNADETTE'S TRIALS 187
ternal pity for her memory, the fervent compassion with which
one regards a human saint, a simple, upright, charming
creature tortured by her faith, allowed Ms" emotion to appear
in his moist eyes and trembling voice. And a pause in his
narrative ensued. Marie, who had hitherto been lying there
quite stiff, with a hard expression of revolt still upon her face,
opened her clenched hands and made a vague gesture of pity.
■ ' Ah,' she murmured, ' the poor chUd, all alone to contend
against those magistrates, and so innocent, so proud, so
unshakeable in her championship of the truth 1 '
The same compassionate sj^mpathy was arising from all
the beds in the ward. That hospital inferno, with its nocturnal
wretchedness, its pestilential atmosphere, its pallets of anguish
heaped together; its weary lady-hospitallers and Sisters flitting
phantom-hke hither and thither, now seemed to be illumined
by a ray of divine charity. Was not the eternal illusion of
happiness rising once more amidst tears and unconscious
falsehoods ? Poor, poor Bemadette ! All waxed indignant
at the thought of the persecutions which she had endured in
defence of her faith.
Then Pierre, resuming his story, related all that the child
had had to suffer. After being questioned by the Commissary
she had to appear before the judges of the local tribunal.
The entire magistracy pursued her, and endeavoured to wring
a retractation from her. But the obstinacy of-her dream was
stronger than the common sense of all the civil authorities
put together. Two doctors who were sent by the Prefect to
' make a careful examination of the girl came, like all doctors
would have done, to the honest opinion that it was a case of
/nervous trouble, of which the asthma was a sure sign, and
/ which, in certain circumstances, might have induced visions.
; / This nearly led to her removal and confinement in a hospital
;^ ^ at Tarbes. But public exasperation was feared. A bishop
"had fallen on his knees before her. Some ladies had sought
to buy favours from her for gold. Moreover she had found a
refuge with the Sisters of Nevers, who tended the aged in the
town asylum, and there she made her first communion, and
was with difficulty taught to read and write. As the Blessed
Virgin seemed to have chosen her solely to work the
happiness of others, and she herself had not been cured,
it was very sensibly decided to take her to the baths of
Cauterots, which were so near at hand. However, they did
her no good. And no sooner had she returned to Lcurdea
188 LOURDES
than the torture of being questioned and adored by a whole
people began afresh, became aggravated, and filled her mora
and more with horror of the world. Her life was over already ;
ehe would be a playful child no more ; she could never be a
young girl dreaming of a husband, a young wife kissing the
cheeks of sturdy children. She had beheld the Virgin, she
was the chosen one, the martyr. If the Virgin, said believers,
had confided three secrets to her, investing her with a triple
armour as it were, it was simply in order to sustain her in her
appointed course.
The clergy had for a long time remained aloof, on its own
side full of doubt and anxiety. Abb^ Feyramale, the parish
priest of Lourdes, was a man of somewhat blunt ways, but
full of infinite kindness, rectitude, and energy whenever he
found himself in what he thought the right path. On the
first occasion when Bemadette visited him, he received this
child who had been brought up at Bartr^s and had not yet
been seen at Catechism, almost as sternly as the Commissary
of Police had done ; in fact, he refused to believe her story,
and with some irony told her to entreat the Lady to begin by
making the eglantine blossom beneath her feet, which, by the
way, the Lady never did. And if the Abb6 ended by taking
the child under his protection like a good pastor who defends
his flock, it was simply through the advent of persecution and
tjhe talk of imprisoning this puny child, whose clear eyes shone
/feo frankly, and who clung with such modest, gentle stubborn-
/ ness to her original tale. Besides, why should he have con-
tinued denying the miracle after merely doubting it like a
prudent priest who had no desire to see religion mixed up in
any suspicious affair? Holy Writ is full of prodigies, all
dogma is based on the mysterious ; and that being so, there
was nothing to prevent him, a priest, from believing that the
Virgin had really entrusted Bemadette vdth a pious message
for him, an injunction to build a church whither the faithful
would repair in procession. Thus it was that he began loving
\and defending Bemadette for her charm's sake, whilst still
sfraining from active interference, awaiting as he did the
d^ision of his Bishop.
^;his Bishop, Monseigneur Laurence, seemed to have shut
himseU up in his episcopal residence at Tarbes, locking him-
self within it and preserving absolute silence as though there
were nothing occurring at Lourdes of a nature to interest
him. He had given strict instructions to his clergy, and go
BERNADETTES TRIALS 189
far not a priest had appeared among tlie vast crowds of
people who spent their days hefore the Grotto. He waited,
and even allowed the Prefect to state in his administrative
circulars that the civil and the religious authorities were act-
ing in concert. In reality, he cannot have helieved in the ap-
paritions of the Grotto of Massabielle, which he doubtless con-
sidered to be the mere hallucinations of a sick child. This
affair, which was revolutionising the region, was of sufficient
Importance for him to have had it studied day by day, and
the manner in which he disregarded it for so long a time shows
how little inclined he was to admit the truth of the alleged
miracles, and how greatly he desired to avoid compromising
the Church in a matter which seemed destined to end badly.
With all his piety, Monseigneur Laurence had a cool, prac-
tical intellect, which enabled him to govern his diocese with
great good sense. Impatient and ardent people nicknamed
him Saint Thomas at the time, on account of the manner in
which his doubts persisted until events at last forced his hand.
Indeed, he turned a deaf ear to all the stories that were being
related, firmly resolved as he was that he would only listen to
them if it should appear certain that religion had nothing to
lose.
However, the persecutions were about to become more pro-
nounced. The Minister of Worship in Paris, who had been
informed of what was going on, required that a stop should
be put to all disorders, and so the Prefect caused the ap-
proaches to the Grotto to be occupied by the military. The
Grotto had already been decorated with vases of flowers
offered by the zeal of the faithful and the gratitude of suf-
ferers who had been healed. Money, moreover, was thrown
into it ; gifts to the Blessed Virgin abounded. Rudimentary
improvements, too, were carried out in a spontaneous way ;
some quarrymen out a kind of reservoir to receive the miracu-
lous water, and others removed the large blocks of stone, and
traced a path in the hiUside. However, in presence of the swell-
ing torrents of people, the Prefect, after renouncing his idea of
arresting Bemadette, took the serious resolution of preventing
all access to the Grotto by placing a strong palisade in front
of it. Some regrettable incidents had lately occurred ; various
children pretended that they had seen the devU, some of them
being guUty of simulation in this respect, whilst others had
given way to real attacks of hysteria, in the contagious ner-
yous unhinging which was so prevalent. But what a terrible
190 LbURDES
business did the removal of the offerings from the Grotto
prove ! It was only towards evening that the Commissary!
was able to find a girl willing to let him have a cart on hire,
and two hours later this girl fell from a loft and broke one of
her ribs. In the same way, a man who had lent an axe had
one of his feet crushed on the morrow by the fall of a block
of stone.* It was in the midst of jeers and hisses that the
Coihmissary carried off the pots of flowers, the tapers which
he found burning, the coppers and the silver hearts which
lay upon the sand. People clenched their fists, and covertly
called him ' thief ' and ' murderer.' Then the posts for the
palisades were planted in the ground, and the rails were
nailed to the crossbars, no httle labour being performed in
order to shut off the Mystery, in order to bar access to the
Unknown, and put the miracles in prison. And the civil
authorities were simple enough to imagine that it was all
over, that those few bits of boarding would suffice to stay the
poor people who hungered for illusion and hope.
But as soon as the new rehgion was proscribed, forbidden
by the law as an offence, it began to bum with an inextin-
guishable flame in the depths of every soul. The believers
came to the river bank in far greater numbers, fell upon
their knees at a short distance from the Grotto, and sobbed
aloud as they gazed at the forbidden heaven. And the sick,
the poor ailing folks, who were forbidden to seek cure, rushed
on the Grotto despite all prohibitions, slipped in wherever
they could find an aperture or climbed over the palings when
their strength enabled them to do so, in the one ardent desire
to steal a little of the water. "What ! there was a prodigious
water in that Grotto, which restored the sight of the blind,
which set the infirm erect upon their legs again, which
instantaneously healed all ailments ; and there were officials
cruel enough to put that water under lock and key so that it
might not cure any more poor people ! Why, it was mon-'
strous 1 And a cry of hatred arose from aU the humble ones,'
all the disinherited ones who had as much need of the
Marvellous as of bread to live 1 In accordance with a muni-
cipal decree, the names of all delinquents were to be taken by
the police, and thus one soon beheld a woeful A&fiU of old
women and lame men summoned before the Justice of the
Peace for the sole offence of taking a little water from the
• Both of these accidents were interpreted as miracles. — Tram.
BERNADETTE'S TRIALS 191
fount of life ! They stammered and entreated, at their wit's
end when a fine was imposed upon them. And, outside, the
crowd was growling ; rageful unpopularity was gathering
around those magistrates who treated human wretchedness so
harshly, those pitiless masters who after taking all the wealth
of the world, would not even leave to the poor their dream of
the realms beyond, their belief that a beneficent superior
power took a maternal interest in them, and was ready to
endow them with peace of soul and health of body. One day
a whole band of poverty-stricken and aiHng folks went to the
Mayor, knelt down in his courtyard, and implored him with
sobs to allow the Grotto to be reopened ; and the words they
spoke were so pitiful that all who heard them wept. A
mother showed her child who was half dead ; would they let
the little one die like that in her arms when there was a
source yonder which had saved the children of other mothers ?
A blind man called attention to his dim eyes ; a pale, scro-
fulous youth displayed the sores on his legs ; a paralytic
woman sought to join her woeful twisted hands : did the
authorities wish to see them all perish, did they refuse them
the last divine chance of life, condemned and abandoned as
they were by the science of man ? And equally great was the
distress of the believers, of those who were convinced that a
corner of Heaven had opened amidst the night of their mourn-
ful existences, and who were indignant that they should be
deprived of the chimerical delight, the supreme relief for
their human and social sufferings, which they found in the
belief that the Blessed Virgin had indeed come down from
Heaven to bring them the priceless balm of her intervention.
However, the Mayor was unable to promise anything, and
the crowd withdrew weeping, ready for rebellion, as though
under the blow of some great act of injustice, an act of idiotic
cruelty towards the humble and the simple for which Heaven
would assuredly take vengeance.
The struggle went on for several months ; and it was an
extraordinary spectacle which these sensible men — the
Minister, the Prefect, and the Commissary of Police —
presented, all animated with the best intentions and contend-
ing against the ever sv/elling crowd of despairing ones, who
would not allow the doors of dreamland to be closed upon
them, who would not be' shut off from the mystic glimpse of
future happiness in which they found consolation ^ their
present wretchedness. The authorities required order, the
192 LOURDES
respect of a discreet religion, the triumpli of reason ; WhfereaS
the need of happiness carried the people off into an enthu-
siastic desire for cure both in this world and in the next. Oh !
to cease suffering, to secure equality in the comforts of life ;
to march on under the protection of a just and beneficent
Mother, to die only to awaken in heaven ! And necessarily
the burning desire of the multitude, the holy madness of the
universal joy, was destined to sweep aside the rigid, morose
conceptions of a well-regulated society in which the ever-
recurring epidemical attacks of religious hallucination are
condemned as prejudicial to good order and healthiness of
mind.
The Sainte-Honorine Ward, on hearing the story, Hkewise
revolted. Pierre again had to pause, for many were the
stifled exclamations in which the Commissary of Police was
likened to Satan and Herod. La Grivotte had sat up on her
mattress, stammering : ' Ah ! the monsters ! To* behave
like that to the Blessed Virgin who has cured me ! '
And even Madame Vetu — once more penetrated by a ray
ol hope amidst the covert certainty she felt that she was
going to die — grew angry at the idea that the Grotto would
not have existed had the Prefect won the day. ' There
would have been no pilgrimages,' she said, ' we should not be
here, hundreds of us would not be cured every year.'
A fit of stifling came over her, however, and Sister Hya-
cinthe had to raise her to a sitting posture. Madame de
Jonqui^re was profiting by the interruption to attend to a
young woman afflicted with a spinal complaint, whUst two
other women, unable to remain on their beds, so unbearable
was the heat, prowled about with short, silent steps, looking
quite white in the misty darkness. And from the far end of
the ward, where all was black, there resounded a noise of
painful breathing, which had been going on without a pause,
accompanying Pierre's narrative like a rattle. Ehse Eouquet
alone was sleeping peacefully, stUl stretched upon her back, and
displaying her disfigured countenance, which was slowly drying.
Midnight had struck a quarter of an hour previously, and
Abb6 Judaine might arrive at any moment for the communion.
Grace was now again descending into_ Marie's heart, and she
was convinced that if the Blessed Virgin had refused to cure
her it was, indeed, her own fault in having doubted when
she entered the piscina. And she, therefore, repented of
her rebellion as of a crime. Could she ever be forgiven ? Her
BERNADETTES TRIALS 193
pale face sank down among her beautiful fair hair, her eyes
filled with tears, and she looked at Pierre with an expression
of anguish. ' Oh I how wicked I was, my friend,' she said.
'It was through hearing you relate how that Prefect and
those magistrates sinned through pride, that I understood my
transgression. One must believe, my friend; there is no
happiness outside faith and love.'
Then, as Pierre wished to break off at the point which ha
had reached, they aU began protesting and calling for the con-
tinuation of his narrative, so that he had to promise to go on
to the triumph of the Grotto.
Its entrance remained barred by the palisade, and you had
to come secretly at night if you wished to pray and carry
off a stolen bottle of water. Still, the fear of rioting increased,
for it was rumoured that whole villages intended to come
down from the hiUs in order to deliver God, as they naively
expressed it. It was a leoie en masse of the humble, a rush
of those who hungered for the miraculous, so irresistible in
its impetuosity that mere common sense, mere considerations
of public order were to be swept away like chaff. And it was
Monseigneur Laurence, in his episcopal residence at Tarbes,
who was first forced to surrender. AU his prudence, aU his
doubts were outflanked by the popular outburst. For five
long months he had been able to remain aloof, preventing his
clergy from following the faithful to the Grotto, and defending
the Church against the tornado of superstition which had been
let loose. But what was the use of .struggling any longer?
He felt the wretchedness of the suffering people committed to
his care to be so great that he resigned himself to granting
them the idolatrous religion for which he realised them to be
eager. . Some prudence remaining to him, however, he con-
tented himself in the first instance with drawing up an ordon-
nance, appointing a commission of inquiry, which was to
investigate the question ; this implied the acceptance of the
miracles after a period of longer or shorter duration. If Mon-
seigneur Laurence was the man of healthy culture and cool
reason that he is pictured to have been, how great must have
been his anguish on the morning when he signed that
ordonnaiiCB ! He must have knelt in his oratory, and
have begged the Sovereign Master of the world to dictate
his conduct to him. He did not believe in the appari-
tions ; he had a loftier, more intellectual idea of the mani-
festations of the Divinity. Only, would he not be showing
0
194 LOURDES
true pity and mercy in silencing the scruples of his reason,
the noble prejudices of his faith, in presence of the necessity
of granting that bread of falsehood which poor humanity
requires in order to be happy ? Doubtless, he begged the
pardon of Heaven for allowing it to be mixed up in what he
regarded as childish pastime, for exposing it to ridicule in con-
nection with an affair in which there was only sickliness and
dementia. But his flock suffered so much, hungered so
ravenously for the marvellous, for fairy stories with which to
lull the pains of life. And thus, in tears, the Bishop at last
sacrificed his respect for the dignity of Providence to his
sensitive pastoral charity_ for the woeful human flock.
Then the Emperor in his turn gave way. He was at
Biarritz at the time, and was kept regularly informed of
everything connected with this affair of the apparitions,
with which the entire Parisian press was also occupying
itself, for the persecutions would not have been complete
if the pens of Voltairean newspaper-men had not meddled
in them. And whilst his Minister, his Prefect, and his Com-
missary of Police were fighting for common sense and pubUc
order, the Emperor preserved his wonted sUence — the deep
silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated.
Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops
came, great personages, great ladies of his circle watched
and drew him on one side, and still he held his tongue.' A
truceless warfare was being waged around him ; on one side the
believers and the men of fanciful minds whom the Mysterious
strongly interested ; on the other the imbelievers and the
statesmen who distrusted the disturbances of the imagination ;
and stiU and ever he held his tongue. Then, all at once, with
the sudden decision of a naturally timid man, he spoke out.
The rumour spread that he had yielded to the entreaties of
his wife Buglnie. No doubt she did intervene, but the
Emperor was more deeply influenced by a revival of his old
humanitarian dreams, his genuine compassion for the disin-
herited.* Like the Bishop, he did not wish to close the portals
of illusion to the wretched by upholding the unpopular decree
which forbade despairing sufferers to go and drink life at the
* I think this view of the matter the right one, for as all who know
the history of the Second Empire are aware, it was about this time that
the Emperor began to take great interest in erecting model dwellings for
the working classes, and in planting and transforming the sandy wastes
of the Landes.— 2Va»M.
SERNADBTTBS TRIALS 195
holy source. So he sent a telegram, a curt order to remove
the palisade, so as to allow everybody free access to the Grotto.
Then came a shout of joy and triumph. The decree
annulling the previous one was read at Lourdes to the sound
of drum and trumpet. The Commissary of Police had to
come in person to superintend the removal of the palisade.
He was afterwards transferred elsewhere, Hke the Prefect.*
People flocked to Lourdes from all parts, the neW, cultus
was organised at the Grotto, and a cry of joy ascended :
-God had won the victory! God? alas no! It was human
f wretchedness which had won the battle, human wretchedness
with its eternal need of falsehood, its hunger for the mar-
vellous, its everlasting hope akin to that of some condemned
man who, for salvation's sake, surrenders himseS into the
hands of an invisible Omnipotence, mightier than iature, and
alone capable, should it be willing, of annulling nature's laws.
V And that which had also conquered was the sovereign com-
N^assion of those pastors, the merciful Bishop and merciful
Emperor who allowed those big sick children to retain the fetich
which consoled some of them and at times even cured others.
In the middle of November the episcopal commission came
to Lourdes to prosecute the inquiry which had been entrusted
to it. It questioned Bemadctte yet once again, and studied a
large number of miracles. However, in order that the evidence
might be absolute, it only registered some thirty cases of cure.
Arid Monseigneur Laurence declared himself convinced.
Nevertheless, he gave a final proof of his prudence, by con-
tinuing to wait another three years before declaring in a
pastoral letter that the Blessed Virgin had in truth appeared
at the Grotto of Massabielle and that numerous miracles had
subsequently taken place there. Meantime, he had purchased
the Grotto itself, with all the land around it, from the munici-
pality of Lourdes, on behalf of his see. Work was then
begun, modestly at first, but soon on a larger and larger
scale as money began to flow in from all parts of Christendom.
The Grotto was cleared and enclosed with an iron railing.
The Gave was thrown back into a new bed, so as to allow of
* The Prefect was transferred to Grenoble, and curiously enough hia
new jurisdiction extended over the hills and valleys of La Salette, whither
pilgrims likewise flocked to drink, pray, and wash themselves at a, miracu-
lous fountain. Warned by experience, however. Baron Massy (such wag
the Prefect's name), was careful to aToi4 any further interference in
wligiouB matters.— 2Va7M.
02
196 LOVRDES
spacious approaches to the shrine, with lawns, paths, and
walks. At last, too, the church which the Virgin had asked
for, the Basilica, began to rise on the summit of the rock
itself. From the very first stroke of the pick, Abb6 Peyramale,
the parish priest of Lourdes, went on directing everything
with even excessive zeal, for the struggle had made him the
most ardent and most sincere of all the believers in the work
that was to be accomplished. With his somewhat rough but
truly fatherly nature, he had begun to adore Bernadette,
maMng her mission his own, and devoting himself, soul and
body, to realising the orders which he had received from
Heaven through her innocent mouth. And he exhausted him-
self in mighty efforts ; he wished everything to be very beautiful
and very grand, worthy of the Queen of the Angels who had
deigned to visit this mountain nook. The first religious
ceremony did not take place tUl six years after the apparitions.
A marble statue of the Virgin was installed with great pomp
on the very spot where she had appeared. It was a magnifi-
cent day, all Lourdes was gay with flags, and every bell rang
joyously. Five years later, in 1869, the first mass was cele-
brated ia the crypt of the Basilica, whose spire was not yet
finished. Meantime gifts flowed in without a pause, a river
of gold was streaming towards the Grotto, a whole town was
about to spring up from the soil. It was the new religion
completing its foundations. The desire to be healed did heal ;
the thirst for a miracle worked the miracle. A deity of pity
and hope was evolved from man's sufferings, from that long-
ing for falsehood and relief, which, in every age of humanity,
has created the marvellous palaces of the realms beyond, where
an almighty power renders justice and distributes eternal
happiness.
And thus the aib'ng ones of the Salnte-Honorine Ward only
beheld in the victory of the Grotto the triumph of their hopes
of cure. Along the rows of beds there was a quiver of joy
when, with his heart stirred by all those poor faces turned
towards him, eager for certainty, Pierre repeated : ' God had
conquered. Since that day the miracles have never ceased,
and it is the most humble who are the most frequently
reUeved.'
Then he laid down the little book. Abb6 Judaine was
coming in, and the Sacrament was about to be administered.
Marie, however, again penetrated by the fever of faith, her
bands burning, leant towards Pierre. ' Oh, my friend I ' said
BERNADETTE'S TRIALS 197
she, ' I pray you hear me confess my fault and absolve me. I
have blasphemed, and have been guilty of mortal sin. If you
do not succour me, I shall be unable to receive the Blessed
Sacrament, and yet I so greatly need to be consoled and
strengthened.'
The young priest refused her request mth a -wave of the
hand. He had never been •willing to act as confessor to this
friend, the only woman he had loved in the healthy smiling
days of youth. However, she insisted. ' I beg you to do
so,' said she ; ' you will help to work the miracle of my
cure.'
Then he gave way, and received the avowal of her fault
that impious rebeUion induced by suffering, that rebellion
against the Virgin who had remained deaf to her prayers.
And afterwards he granted her absolution in the sacramental
form.
Meanwhile Abbe Judaine had already deposited the
ciborium on a httle table, between two lighted tapers, which
looked hke woeful stars in the semi-obscurity of the ward.
Madame de Jonquiere had just decided to open one of the
windows quite wide, for the odour emanating from all the
suffering bodies and heaped-up rags had become unbearable.
But no air came in from the narrow courtyard into which the
window opened ; though black with night, it seemed like a
well of fire. Having offered to act as server, Pierre repeated
the ' Confiteor.' Then, after responding with the 'Misereatur '
and the ' Indulgentiam,' the chaplain, who wore his alb, raised
the pyx, saying, ' Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away
the sins of the world.' All the women who, writhing in
agony, were impatiently awaiting the communion, hke dying
creatures who await Hfe from some fresh medicine which is a
long time coming, thereupon thrice repeated, in all humihty,
and with lips almost closed : ' Lord, I am not worthy that
Thou shouldst enter under my roof ; but only say the word
and my soul shall be healed.'
Abb6 Judaine had begun to make the round of those woe-
ful beds, accompanied by Pierre, and followed by Madame de
Jonquiere and Sister Hyaeinthe, each of whom carried one of
the lighted tapers. The Sister designated those who were to
communicate ; and, murmuring the customary Latin words, the
priest leant forward and placed the Host somewhat at random
on the sufferer's tongue. Almost all were waiting for him
^tb widely opened, gUttering eyes, amidst the disorder of
198 LCURDES
that hastily pitched camp. Two were found to be sound
asleep, however, and had to be awakened. Several were
moaning without being conscious of it, and continued moan-
ing even after they had received the sacrament. At the far
end of the ward, the rattle of the poor creature who could
not be seen still resounded. And nothing could have been
more mournful than the appearance of that little cortige in
the semi-darkness, amidst which the yellow flames of the
tapers gleamed like stars.
But Marie's face, to which an expression of ecstasy had
returned, was like a divine apparition. Although La Grivotte
was hungering for the bread of life, they had refused her the
sacrament on this occasion, as it was to be administered to
her in the morning at the Eosary ; Madame Vetu, however,
had received the Host on her black tongue in a hiccough.
And now Marie was lying there under the pale light of the
tapers, looking so beautiful amidst her fair hair, with her eyes
dUated and her features transfigured by faith, that everyone ad-
mired her. She received the sacrament with rapture ; Heaven
visibly descended into her poor, youthful frame, reduced to
such physical wretchedness. And, clasping Pierre's hand, she
detained him for a moment, saying : ' Oh ! she will heal me, '
my friend, she has just promised me that she will do so. Go
and take some rest. I shall sleep so soundly now I *
As he withdrew in company with AbbI Judaine, Pierre
caught sight of little Madame Ddsagneaux stretched out in
the armchair in which weariness had overpowered her. No-
thing could awaken her. It was now half-past one in the
morning ; and Madame de JonquiSre and her assistant. Sister
Hyacinthe, were still going backwards and forwards, turning
the patients over, cleansing them, and dressing their sores.
However, the ward was becoming more peaceful, its heavy
darkness had grown less oppressive since Bernadette with her
charm had passed through it. The visionary's little shadow
was now flitting in triumph from bed to bed, completing its
work, bringing a little of heaven to each of the despairing
ones, each of the disinherited ones of this world ; and as they
all at last sank to sleep they could see the little shepherdess,
so young, so ill herself, leaning over them and kissing them
with a kindly smile.
199
THE THIBD DAY
BED AND BOABD
A.T Bsven o'clock on the morning of that fine, bright, warm
August Sunday, M. de Guersaint was abeady up and dressed
in one of the two little rooms which he had fortunately been
able to secure on the third floor of the Hotel of the Apparitions.
He had gone to bed at eleven o'clock the night before and had
awoke feeling quite fresh and gay. As soon as he was dressed
he entered the adjoining room which Pierre occupied ; but
the young priest, who had not returned to the hotel until past
one in the morning, with his blood heated by Insomnia, had
been unable to doze off until daybreak and was now still
slumbering. His cassock flung across a chair, his other
garments scattered here and there, testified to his great weari-
ness and agitation of mind.
'Come, come, you lazybones!' cried M. de Guersaint
gaily ; ' can't you hear the bells ringing ? '
Pierre awoke with a start, quite surprised to find himself
in that little hotel room into which the sunlight was stream-
ing. All the joyous peals of the bells, the music of the chim-
ing, happy town, moreover, came in through the window
which he had left open,
' We shall never have time to get to the hospital before
eight o'clock to fetch Marie,' resumed M. de Guersaint, ' for
we must have some breakfast, eh ? '
' Of course, make haste and order two cups of chocolate.
I will get up at once, I shan't be long,' replied Pierre.
In spite of the fatigue which had already stiffened his
joints, he sprang out of bed as soon as he was alone, and
made all haste with his toilet. However, he still had his
bead in the washing basin, ducking it in the fresh, cool water,
50O LOVRDES
■when M. de Guersaint, who was unable to remain alone, came
back again. ' I've given the order,' said he ; ' they wiil bring
it up. Ah ! -what a curious place this hotel is ! You have of
course seen the landlord, Master Majesty, clad in white from
head to foot and looking so dignified in his office. The place
is crammed, it appears ; they have never had so many people
before. So it is no wonder that there should be such a fearful
noise. I was woke up three times during the night. People
kept on talking in the room next to mine. And you, did you
sleep well ? '
' No, indeed,' answered Pierre ; ' I was tired to death, but I
couldn't close my eyes. No doubt it was the uproar you
speak of that prevented me.'
In his turn, he then began to talk of the thin partitions,
and the manner in which the house had been crammed with
people until it seemed as though the floors and the walls
would collapse with the strain. The place had been shaking
all night long ; every now and then people suddenly rushed
along the passages, heavy footfalls resounded, gruff voices
ascended nobody knew whence ; without speaking of all the
moaning and coughing, the frightful coughing which seemed
to re-echo from every waU. Throughout the night people
evidently came in and went out, got up and laid down again,
paying no attention to the hour in the disorder in which they
lived, amid shocks of passion which made them hurry to their
devotional exercises as to pleasure parties.
' And Marie, how was she when you left her last night ? '
M. de Guersaint suddenly inquired.
' A great deal better,' rephed Pierre ; ' she had an attack of
extreme discouragement, but all her courage and faith re-
turned to her at last.'.
A pause followed ; and then the girl's father resumed
with his tranquil optimism : ' Oh ! I am not anxious. Things
wiU go on all right, you'll see. For my own part, I am de-
lighted. I had asked the Virgin to grant me her protection
in my affairs — you know, my great invention of navigable
balloons. Well, suppose I told you that she has already
shown me her favour ? Yes, indeed ; yesterday evening while
I was talking with Abb6 Des Hermoises, he told me that at
Toulouse he would no doubt be able to find a person to
finance me — one of his friends, in fact, who is extremely
wealthy and takes great interest in mechanics ! And in this I
at once saw the hand of God ! ' M. de Guersaint began laugh-
BED AND BOARD 201
ing -with his childish laugh, and then he added : ' That Abb^
Des Hermoises is a charming man. I shall see this after-
noon if there is any means of my accompanying him on an
excursion to the Cirque de Gavarnie at small cost.'
Pierre, who wished to pay everything, the hotel bill and
all the rest, at once encouraged him in this idea. ' Of course,'
said he, ' you ought not to miss this opportunity to visit the
mountains, since you have so great a wish to do so. Your
daughter will be very happy to know that you are pleased.'
Their talk, however, was now interrupted by a servant girl
bringing the two cups of chocolate with a couple of rolls on a
metal tray covered with a napkin. She left the door open as
she entered the rqqm, so that a glimpse was obtained of some
portion of the passage. ' Ah ! they are already doing my
neighbour's room ! ' exclaimed M. de Guersaint. ' He is a
married man, isn't he ? His wife is with him ? '
The servant looked astonished, ' Oh, no,' she repUed,
' he is quite alone ! '
' Quite alone ? Why, I heard people talking in his room
this morning.'
' You must be mistaken, monsieur,' said the servant ; ' he
has just gone out after giving orders that his room was to be
tidied up at once.' And then, while taking the cups of choco-
late off the tray and placing them on the table, she continued :
' Oh ! he is a very respectable gentleman. Last year he was
able "to have one of the Httle pavilions which Monsieur
Majesty lets out- to visitors, in the lane by the side of the
hotel ; but tbis year he applied too late and had to content
himself with that room, which greatly worried him, for it isn't
a large one, though there is a big cupboard in it. As he
doesn't care to eat with everybody, he takes his meals there,
and he orders good wine and the best of everything, I can
teU you.'
' That explains it all 1 ' replied M. de Guersaint gaily ; ' he
dined too well last night, and I must have heard him talking
in his sleep.'
Pierre had been listening somewhat inquisitively to all
this chatter. 'And on this side, my side,' said he, 'isn't
there a gentleman with two ladies, and a little boy who walks
about with a crutch ? '
' Yes, Monsieur I'Abbfi, I know them. The aunt, Madame
Chaise, took one of the two rooms for herself ; and Monsieur
and Madame Vigneron with their son Gustavo have had to
202 LOURDES
content themselves with the other one. This is the second
year they have come to Lourdes. They are very respectable
people too.'
Pierre nodded. During the night he had fancied he could
recognise the voice of M. Vigneron, whom the heat doubtless
had incommoded. However, the servant was now thoroughly
started, and she began to enumerate the other persons whose
rooms were reached by the same passage ; on the left hand,
there was a priest, then a mother with three daughters, and
then an old married couple ; whilst on the right lodged an-
other gentleman who was all alone> a yonng lady, too, who
was unaccompanied, and then a fiajnily party which included
five young children. The hotel was crowded to its garrets.
The servants had had to give up their rooms the previous
evening and lie in a heap in the washhouse. During the
night, also, some camp bedsteads had even been set up on the
landings ; and one honourable ecclesiastic, for lack of other
accommodation, had been obliged to sleep on a biUiard-table.
When the girl had retired and the two men had drunk
their chocolate, M. de Guersaint went back into his own room
to wash his hands again, for he was very careful of his person ;
and Pierre, who remained alone, felt attracted by the gay sun-
light, and stepped for a moment on to the narrow balcony
outside his window. Each of the third-floor rooms on this
side of the hotel was provided with a similar balcony, having
a carved- wood balustrade. However, the young priest's sur-
prise was very great, for he had scarcely stepped outside when
he suddenly saw a woman protrude her head over the balcony
next to him— jthat of the room occupied by the gentleman
whom M. de Guersaint and the servant had been speaking of.
And this woman he had recognised : it was Madame Volmar.
There was no mistaking her long face with its delicate drawn
features, its magnificent large eyes, those brasiers over which
a veil, a dimming moire, seemed to pass at times. She gave
a start of terror on perceiving him. And he, extremely ill at
ease, grieved that he should have frightened her, made all
haste to withdraw into his apartment. A sudden light had
dawned upon him, and he now understood and could picture
everything. So this was why she had not been seen at the
Hospital, where little Madame D6sagneauxwas always asking
for her. Standing motionless, his heart upset, Pierre fell into
a deep reverie, reflecting on the life led by this woman whom
be knew, that torturing conjugal life in Paris between a fierce
BED AND BOARD 203
mother-in-law and an unworthy husband, and then those three
days of complete liberty spent at Lourdes, that brief bonfire
of passion to which she had hastened under the sacrilegious
pretext of serving the Divinity. Tears whose cause he could
not even explain, tears that ascended from the very depths of
his being, from his own voluntary chastity, welled into his
eyes amidst the feeling of intense sorrow which came over
him.
' Well, are you ready ? ' joyously called M. de Guersaint as
he came back, with his grey jacket buttoned up and his hands
gloved.
' Yes, yes, let us go,' replied Pierre, turning aside and pre-
tending to look for his hat so that he might wipe his eyes.
Then they went out, and on crossing the threshold heard
on their left hand an unctuous voice which they recognised ;
it was that of M. Vigneron who was loudly repeating the
morning prayers. A moment afterwards came a meeting
which interested them. They were walking down the passage
when they were passed by a middle aged, thickset, sturdy-
looking gentleman, wearing carefully trimmed whiskers. He
bent his back and passed so rapidly that they were unable to
distinguish his features, but they noticed that he was carry-
ing a carefully made parcel. And immediately afterwards he
sUpped a key into the lock of the room adjoining M. de Guer-
saint's, and opening the door disappeared noiselessly, like a
shadow.
M. de Guersaint had glanced round : ' Ah ! my neigh-
bour,' said he ; 'he has been to market and has brought back
some delicacies, no doubt ! '
Pierre pretended not to hear, for his companion was so
light-minded that he did not care to trust him with a secret
which was not his own. Besides, a feeling of uneasiness was
returning to him, a kind of chaste terror at the thought that
the world and the flesh were there taking their revenge,
amidst all the mystical enthusiasm which he could feel around
him.
They reached the Hospital just as the patients were being
brought out to be carried to the Grotto ; and they found that
Marie had slept well and was very gay. She kissed her father
and scolded him when she learnt that he had not yet decided
on his trip to Gavarnie. She should really be displeased with
him, she said, if he did not go. Still with the same restful,
ewiiling expression, she added that she did not expect to be
204 LOURDES
curecl that day ; and then, assuming an air of mystery, she
begged Pierre to obtain permission for her to spend the follow-
ing night before the Grotto. This was a favour which all the
sufferers ardently coveted, but which only a few favoured ones
with diflSculty secured. After protesting, anxious as he felt
with regard to the effect which a night spent in the open air
might have upon her health, the young priest, seeing how un-
happy she had suddenly become, at last promised that he
would make the application. Doubtless she imagined that
she would only obtain a hearing from the Virgin when they
were alone together in the slumbering peacefulness of the
night. That morning, indeed, she felt so lost among the
innumerable patients who were heaped together in front of
the Grotto, that already at ten o'clock she asked to be taken
back to the Hospital, complaining that the bright hght tired
her eyes. And when her father and the priest had again
installed her in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, she gave them
their liberty for the remainder of the day. ' No, don't come
to fetch me,' she said, ' I shall not go back to the Grotto this
afternoon — it would be useless. But you will come for me
this evening at nine o'clock, won't you, Pierre ? It is agreed,
you have given me your word.'
He repeated that he would endeavour to secure the
requisite permission, and that, if necessary, he would apply
to Father Fourcade in person.
' Then, till this evening, darling,' said M. de Guersaint,
kissing his daughter. And he and Pierre went off together,
leaving her lying on her bed, with an absorbed expression on
her features as her large, smiling eyes wandered away into
space.
It was barely half-past ten when they got back to the
Hotel of the Apparitions ; but M. de Guersaint, whom the
fine weather delighted, talked of having d&jeuner at once, so
that he might the sooner start upon a ramble through Lourdes.
First of all, however, he wished to go up to his room, and
Pierre following him, they met with quite a drama on their
way. The door of the room occupied by the Vignerons was
wide open, and httle Gustave could be seen lying on the sofa
which served as his bed. He was livid ; a moment pre-
viously he had suddenly fainted, and this had made the father
and mother imagine that the end had come. Madame
Vigneron was crouching on a chair, still stupefied by her
fright, whilst M. Vigneron rushed about the room, thrusting
mt) AND HOARD S05
everytliiBg aside in order that he might prepare a glass of
Bugared-water, to which he added a few drops of some elixir.
TMs draught, he exclaimed, would set the lad right again.
But all the same, it was incomprehensible. The boy was still
strong, and to think that he should have fainted like that, and
have turned as white as a chicken ! Speaking in this wise,
M. Vigneron glanced at Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was
standing in front of the sofa, looking in good health that
morning ; and his hands shook yet more violently at the
covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried off his son,
they would no longer have inherited the aunt's fortune. He
was quite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening
the boy's mouth he compelled him to swallow the entire con-
tents of the glass. Then, however, when he heard Gustave
sigh, and saw him open his eyes again, his fatherly good-nature
reappeared, and he shed tears, and called the lad his dear
little fellow. But on Madame Chaise drawing near to offer
some assistance, Gustave repulsed her with a sudden gesture
of hatred, as though he understood how this woman's money
unconsciously perverted his parents, who, after all, were
worthy folks. Greatly offended, the old lady turned on her
heel, and seated herself in a corner, whilst the father and
mother, at last freed from their anxiety, returned thanks to
the Blessed Virgin for having preserved their darling, who
smiled at thera with his intelligent and infinitely sorrowful
smile, knowing and understanding everything as he did, and
no longer having any taste for life, although he was not
fifteen.
' Can we be of any help to you ? ' asked Pierre in an
obliging way.
' No, no, I thank you, gentlemen,' replied M. Vigneron,
coming for a moment into the passage. ' But oh ! we did
have a fright ! Think of it, an only son, who is so dear to us,
too.'
All around them the approach of the dijeuner hour was
now throwing the house into commotion. Every door was
banging, and the passages and the staircase resounded with
the constant pitter-patter of feet. Three big girls passed by,
raising a current of air with the sweep of their skirts. Some
little children were crying in a neighbouring room. Then
there were old people who seemed quite scared, and distracted
priests who, forgetting their calling, caught up their cassocks
with both hands, so that they might run the faster to the
2o6 LOURDES
dining-room. From the top to the bottom of the house one
could feel the floors shaking under the excessive weight of all
the people who were packed inside the hotel.
' Oh, I hope that it is all over now, and that the Blessed
Virgin will cure him,' repeated M. Vigneron, before allowing
his neighbours to retire. ' We are going downstairs, for I
must confess that all this has made me feel faint. I need
something to eat, I am terribly hungry.'
When Pierre and M. de Guersaint at last left their rooms,
and went downstairs, they found to their annoyance that
there was not the smallest table-corner vacant in the large
dining-room. A most extraordinary mob had assembled
there, and the few seats that were still unoccupied were
reserved. A waiter informed them that the room never
emptied between ten and one o'clock, such was the rush of
appetite, sharpened by the keen mountain air. So they had
to resign thernselves to wait, requesting the waiter to warn
them as soon as there should be a couple of vacant places.
Then, scarcely knowing what to do with themselves, they went
to walk about the hotel porch, whence there was a view of
the street, along which the townsfolk, in their Sunday best,
streamed without a pause.
All at once, however, the landlord of the Hotel of the
Apparitions, Master Majesty in person, appeared before them,
clad in white from head to foot ; and with a great show of
politeness he inquired if the gentlemen would hke to wait in
the drawing-room. He was a stout man of five-and-forty, and
strove to bear the burden of his name in a right royal fashion.
Bald and clean-shaven, with round blue eyes in a waxy face,
displaying three superposed chins, he always deported himself
with much dignity. He had come from Nevers with the
Sisters who managed the orphan asylum, and was married to
a dusky little woman, a native of Lourdes. In less than fifteen
years they had made their hotel one of the most substantial
and best-patronised estabUshments in the town. Of recent
times moreover they had started a business in religious articles,
installed in a large shop on the left of the hotel porch and
managed by a young niece under Madame Majesty's super-
vision.
'You can wait in 'the drawing-room, gentlemen,* again
suggested the hotelkeeper whom Pierre's cassock rendered
very attentive.
They replied, however, that they preferred to walk about
BED AND BOARD 207
and wait in the open air. And thereupon Majesty would not
leave them, but deigned to chat with them for a moment as
he was wont to do with those of his customers whom he
desired to honour. The conversation turned at first on the
procession which would take place that night and which
promised to be a superb spectacle as the weather was so
fine. There were more than fifty thousand strangers gathered
together in Lourdes that day, for visitors had come in from
all the neighbouring bathing stations. This explained the
crush at the tahl& d'hdte. Possibly the town' would run short
of bread as had been the case the .previous year.
* You saw what a scramble there is,' concluded Majeste,
' we really don't know how to manage. It isn't my fault, 1
assure you, if you are kept waiting for a short time.'
At this moment, however, a postman arrived with a large
batch of newspapers and letters which he deposited on a table
in the office. He had kept one letter in his hand and inquired
of the landlord, ' Have you a. Madame Maze here ? '
' Madame Maze, Madame Maze,' repeated the hotelkeeper.
' No, no, certainly not.'
Pierre had heard both question and answer, and drawing
near he exclaimed, ' I know of a Madame Maze who must
be lodging with the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception,
the Blue Sisters as people call them here, I think.'
The postman thanked him for the information and went
off, but a somewhat bitter smile had risen to Majesty's lips.
' The Blue Sisters,' he muttered, ' ah ! the Blue Sisters.' Then,
darting a side glance at Pierre's cassock, he stopped short,
as though he feared that he might say too much. Yet his
heart was overflowing ; he would have greatly liked to ease
his feeUngs, and this young priest from Paris, who looked so
liberal-minded, could not be one of the ' band ' as he called all
those who discharged functions at the Grotto and coined
money out of Our Lady of Lourdes. Accordingly, little by
little, he ventured to speak out.
' I am a good Christian, I assure you. Monsieur I'Abb^,'
said he. ' In fact we are all good Christians here. And I am
a regular worshipper and take the sacrament every Easter.
But, really, I must say that members of a religious community
ought not to keep hotels. No, no, it isn't right 1 '
And thereupon he vented all the spite of a tradesman in
presence of what he considered to be disloyal competition.
Ought not those Blue Sisters, those Sisters ol the Immaculate
2o8 LOURDES
Conception, to have confined themselves to their real functions,
the manufacture of wafers for sacramental purposes, and the
repairing and washing of church linen? Instead of that,
however, they had transformed their convent into a vast
hostelry, where ladies who came to Lourdes unaccompanied
found separate rooms, and were able to take their meals either
in privacy or in a general dining-room. Everything was
certainly very clean, very well organised and very inexpensive,
thanks to the thousand advantages which the Sisters enjoyed ;
in fact, no hotel at Lourdes did so much business. ' But all
the same,' continued Majesty, ' I ask you if it is proper ? To
think of nuns selling victuals ! Besides, I must tell you that
the lady superior is really a clever woman, and as soon as she
saw the stream of fortune roUing in, she wanted to keep it aU
for her own community and resolutely parted from the Fathers
of the Grotto who wanted to lay their hands on it. Yes,
Monsieur I'Abb^, she even went to Eome and gained her cause
there, so that now she pockets all the money that her bills
bring in. Think of it, nuns, yes nuns, mon Dieu I letting fur-
nished rooms and keeping a table d'hdte.'
He raised his arrds to heaven, he was stifling with envy
and vexation.
' But as your house is crammed,' Pierre gently objected,
' as you no longer have either a bed or a plate at anybody's
disposal, where would you put any additional visitors who
might arrive here ? '
Majeste at once began protesting. ' Ah I Monsieur
I'Abbd ! ' said he, ' one can see very well that you don't know
the place. It's quite true that there is work for aU of us, and
that nobody has reason to complain during the national
pilgrimage. But that only lasts four or five days, and in
ordinary times the custom we secure isn't nearly so great.
For myself, thank Heaven, I am always satisfied. My house
is well known, it occupies the same rank as the Hotel of the
Grotto, where two lan^ords have already made their fortunes.
But no matter, it is vexing to see those Blue Sisters taking all
the cream of the custom, for instance the ladies of the
bourgeoisie who spend a fortnight and three weeks here at a
stretch ; and that too, just in the quiet season, when there
are not many people here. You understand, don't you?
There are people of position who dislike uproar ; they go by
themselves to the Grotto, and pray there all day long, for days
BED AND BOARD 209
together, and pa^rgood prices for their accommodation without
any higgling.'
Madame Majesty, whom Pierre and M. de Gnersaint had
not noticed leaning over an account-book in which she was
adding up some figures, thereupon intervened in a shrill
voice : ' We had a customer like that, gentlemen, who stayed
here for two months last year. She went to the Grotto,
came back, went there again, took her meals, and went to bed.
And never did we have a word of complaint from her ; she
was always smiling, as though to say that she found every-
thing very nice. She paid her bill, too, without even looking
at it. Ah ! one regrets people of that kind.'
Short, thin, very dark, and dressed in black, with a little
white collar, Madame Majesty had risen to her feet ; and
she now began to solicit custom : ' If you would like to
buy a few little souvenirs of Lourdes before you leave, gentle-
men, I hope that you will not forget us. We have a shop
close by, where you will find an assortment of all the articles
that are most in request. As a rule the persons who stay
here are kind enough not to deal elsewhere.'
However, Majest6 was again wagging his head, with the
air of a good Christian saddened by the scandals of the time.
' Certainly,' said he, ' I don't want to show any disrespect to
the reverend Fathers, but it must in all truth be admitted
that they are too greedy. You must have seen the shop
which they have set up near the Grotto, that shop which is
always crowded, and where tapers and articles of piety are
sold. A bishop declared that it was shameful, and that the
buyers and sellers ought to be driven out of the temple afresh.
It is said, too, that the Fathers run that big shop yonder, just
across the street, which supphes aU the petty dealers in the
town. And according to the reports which circulate, they
have a finger in all the trade in religious articles, and levy a
percentage on the millions of chaplets, statuettes, and medals
which are sold every year at Lourdes. '
Majeste had now lowered his voice, for his accusations
were becoming precise, and he ended by trembling somewhat
at his imprudence in talking so confidentially to strangers.
However, the expression of Pierre's gentle, attentive face reas-
sured him ; and so he continued with the passion of a wounded
rival, resolved to go on to the very end. 'I am willing
to admit,' said he, ' that there is some exaggeration in all this.
But none the less it does rehgion no good for people to see the
p
sio LOUROeS
reverend Fathers keeping shops like us tradesmen. For my
part, of course, I don't go and ask for a share of the money
which they make by their masses, or a percentage on the
presents which they receive, so why should they start selling
what I sell ? Our business was a poor one last year owing to
them. There are already too many of us ; nowadays every-
one at Lourdes sells " rehgious articles," to such an extent, in
fact, that there will soon be no butchers or vrine merchants
left— nothing but bread to eat and water to drink. Ah!
Monsieur rAbb6, it is no doubt nice to have the Blessed
Virgin with us, but things are none the less very bad at
times.'
A person staying at the hotel at that moment disturbed
him, but he returned just as a young girl came in search of
Madame Majesty. The damsel, who evidently belonged to
Lourdes, was very pretty, smaU but plump, with beautiful
black hair, and a round face fuU of bright gaiety.
' That is our niece ApolHne,' resumed Majeste. ' She has
been keeping our shop for two years past. She is the daughtei
of one of my v?ife's brothers, who is in poor circumstances.
She was keeping sheep at Ossun, in the neighbourhood of
Bartr^s, when we were struck by her intelligence and nice
looks and decided to bring her here ; and we don't repent
having done so, for she has a great deal of merit, and has
become a very good saleswoman.'
A point to which he omitted to refer, was that there were
rumours current of somewhat flighty conduct on Mademoiselle
ApoUine's part. But she undoubtedly had her value : she
attracted customers by the power, possibly, of her large black
eyes, which smiled sb readily. During his sojourn at Lourdes
the previous year, Gerard de Peyrelongue had scarcely stirred
from the shop she managed, and doubtless it was only the
matrimonial ideas now flitting through his head that pre-
vented him from returning thither. It seemed as though the
Abbe Des Hermoises had taken his place, for this gallant
ecclesiastic brought a great many la£eB to make purchases
at the repository.
' Ah 1 you are speaking of Apolline,' said Madame MajestI,
at that moment coming back from the shop. 'Have you
noticed one thing about her, gentlemen— her extraordinary
likeness to Bernadette ? There, on the wall yonder, is a photo>
graph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old.'
Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near to examine the
BED AND BOARD 211
portrait, whilst Majeste exclaimed ; ' BDrnadettG, yes, certainly
— she was rather like Apolline, but not nearly so nice ; she
looked so sad and poor.'
He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then
the waiter appeared and announced that there was at last a
little table vacant. M. de Guersaint had twice gone to glance
inside the dining-room, for he was eager to have his d&jmmer
and spend the remainder of that fine Sunday out of doors.
So he now hastened away, without paying any further atten-
tion to Majesty, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that
the gentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all.
To reach the table mentioned by the waiter the architect
and Pierre had to cross the dining-room from end to end. It
was a long apartment, painted a light oak colour, an oily
yellow, which was already peehng away in places and soiled
with stains in others. You realised that rapid wear and tear
went on here amidst the continual scramble of the big eaters
who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc
clock and a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece.
Guipure curtains, moreover, bung at the five large windows
loolung on to the street, which was flooded with sunshine, some
of the ardent arrow-like rays penetrating into the room
although the blinds had been lowered. And, in the middle of
the apartment, some forty persons were packed together at the
table d'hdte, which was scarcely eleven yards in length and
did not supply proper accommodation for more than thirty
people ; whilst at the Uttle tables standing against the walls
upon either side another forty persons sat close together,
hustled by the three waiters each time that they went by.
You had scarcely reached the threshold before you were
deafened by the extraordinary uproar, the noise of voices and
the clatter of forks and plates ; and it seemed, too, as if you
were entering a damp oven, for a warm, steamy mist, laden
with a suffocating smell of victuals, assailed the face. -
Pierre at first failed to distinguish anything, but when he
was installed at the little table^-a garden-table which had
been brought indoors for the occasion, and on which there
was scarcely room for two covers — he felt quite upset, almost
sick, in fact, at the sight presented by the table d'hdte, which
his glance now enfiladed from end to end. People had been
eating at it for an hour already, two seta of customers had
followed one upon the other, and the covers were strewn about
in higgledy-piggledy fashion. On the cloth were numerous
p2
212 LOURDES
stains of wine and sauce, and there was even no symmetry in ths
arrangement of the glass fruit-stands, which formed the only
decorations of the table. Then one's astonishment increased at
sight of the motley mob which was collected there — ^huge priests,
scraggy girls, mothers overflowing with superfluous fat, gentle-
men with red faces, and famiUes ranged in rows and display-
ing all the pitiable, increasing ugliness of successive genera-
tions. AU these people were perspiring, greedily swallowing,
seated slantwise, lacking room to move their arms, and unable
even to use their hands deftly. And amidst this display of
appetite, increased tenfold by fatigue, and of eager haste to fill
one's stomach in order to return to the Grotto more quickly,
—there was a corpulent ecclesiastic who in nowise hurried, but
ate of every dish vrith prudent slowness, erunohing his food
with a ceaseless, dignified movement of the jaws.
' Fichtre 1 ' exclaimed M. de Guersaint, ' it is by no means
cool in here. All the same, I shall be gliid of something to
eat, for I've felt a sinMng in the stomach ever since I have
been at Lourdes. And you — are you hungry ? '
' Yes, yes, I shall eat,' replied Pierre, though, truth to tell,
he felt quite upset.
The menu was a copious one. There was salmon, an
omelet, mutton cutlets with mashed potatoes, stewed kid-
neys, cauliflowers, cold meats, and apricot tarts — everything
cooked too much, and swimming in sauce which, but for its
grittiness, would have been flavourless. However, there was
some fairly fine fruit on the glass stands, particularly some
peaches. And, besides, the people did not seem at aU diflSculli
to please ; they apparently had no palates, for there was no
sign of nausea. Hemmed in between an old priest and a
dirty, full-bearded man, a girl of delicate build, who looked
very pretty with her soft eyes and silken skin, was eating some
kidneys with an expression of absolute beatitude, although the
so-called 'sauce' in which they swam was simply greyish
water.
' Hum ! ' resumed even M. de Guersaint, ' this salmon is not
so bad. Add a little salt to it, and you will find it aU right.'
Pierre made up his mind to eat, for after aU he must take
sustenance for strength's sake. At a little table close by,
however, he had just caught sight of Madame Vigneron and
Madame Chaise, who sat face to face, apparently waiting.
And, indeed, M. Vigneron and his son Gustave soon appeared;
the latter still pale, {md leaning more heavily than usual gn hia
BED AND BOARD 213
crutch. ' Sit down next to your aunt,' said his father ; • I will
take the chair beside your mother.' But just then he per-
ceived his two neighbours, and stepping up to them, he added :
' Oh ! he is now all right again. I have been rubbing him
with some eau-de-Cologne, and by-and-by he will be able to
take his bath at the piscina.'
Thereupon M. Vigneron sat down, and began to devour.
But what an awful fright he had had ! He again began talk-
ing of it aloud, despite himself, so intense had been his terror
at the thought that the lad might go off before his aunt. The
latter related that whilst she was kneeling at the Grotto the
day before, she had experienced a sudden f eeUng of relief ;
in fact, she flattered herself that she was cured of her heart
complaint, and began giving precise particulars, to which her
brother-in-law listened with dilated eyes, full of involuntary
anxiety. Most certainly he was a good-natured man, he
had never desired anybody's death ; only he felt indignant at
the idea that the Virgin might cure this old woman, and
forget his son, who was so young. Talking and eating, he
had got to the outlets, and was swallowing the mashed
potatoes by the forkful, when he fancied he could detect that
Madame Chaise was sulking with her nephew. 'Gus-
tave,' he suddenly inquired, ' have you asked your aunt's
forgiveness?' The lad, quite astonished, began staring at
his father with his large clear eyes. ' Yes,' added M. Vig-
neron, ' you behaved very badly, you pushed her back just
now,. when she wanted to help you to sit up.'
Madame Chaise said nothing, but waited with a dignified
air, whilst Gustave, who, without any show of appetite, was
finishing the noix of his cutlet, which had been cut into small
pieces, remained with his eyes lowered on his plate, this time
obstinately refusing to make the sorry show of affection which
was demanded of him.
' Come, Gustave,' resumed his father, ' be a good boy
You know how kind your aunt is, and all that she intends to
do for you.'
But no, he would not yield. At that moment, indeed, he
really hated that woman, who did not die quickly enough,
who polluted the affection of his parents, to such a point that
when he saw them surround him with attentions he no longer
knew whether it were himself or the inheritance which his
life represented that they wished to save. However, Madame
Vigneron, so dignified in her demeanour, came to her hus-
2X4 LOVRDES
band's help. ' You really grieve me, Gustave,' said she ; ' ask
your aunt's forgiveness, or you will make me quite angry -with
you.
Thereupon he gave way. What was the use of resisting ?
Was it not better that his parents should obtain that money ?
Would he not himself die later on, so as to suit the family con-
venience ? He was aware of all this ; he understood everytiiing,
even when not a word was ^oken. So keen was the sense of
hearing with which suffering had endowed hiin, that he even
heard the others' thoughts.
' I beg your pardon, aunt,' he said, ' for not having behaved
well to you just now.'
Then two big tears rolled down from his eyes, whilst he
smiled with the air of a tender-hearted man who has seen too
much of life and can no longer be deceived by anything.
Madame Chaise at once kissed him and told him that she was
not at all angry. And the Yignerons' delight in living was
displayed in all candour.
?;If the kidneys are not up to much,' M. de Guersaint now
said to Pierre, ' here, at all events, are some cauliflowers with
a good flavour.'
The formidable mastication was still going on around
them. Pierre had never seen such an amount of eating,
amidst such perspiration, in an atmosphere as stifling as that
of a washhouse fuU of hot steam. The odour of the victuals
seemed to thicken into a kind of smoke. You had to shout to
make yourself heard, for everybody was talking in loud ton^s
and the scared waiters raised a fearful clatter m changing the
plates and forks : not to mention the noise of all the jaw-
crunching, a mill-like grinding which was distinctly audible.
What most hurt the feelings of the young priest, however,
was the extraordinary promiscuity of the tahle d'Mte, at which
men and women, young girls and ecclesiastics, were packed
together in chance order, and satisfied their hunger like a pack
of hounds snapping at offal in all haste. Baskets of bread
went round and were promptly emptied. And there was a
perfect massacre of cold meats, all the remnants of the victuals
of the day before, leg of mutton, veal and ham, encompassed
by a fallen mass of transparent jelly which quivered like soft
glue. They had all eaten too much already, but these viands
seemed to whet their appetites afresh, as though the idea had
come to them that nothing whatever ought to be left. The
fat priest in the middle of the table, who had shown himself
BED AND BOARD 215
Buch a capital knife-and-fork, was now lingering over the fruit,
having just got to his third peach, a huge one, which he
slowly peeled and swallowed in slices with an air of compunc-
tion.
All at once, however, the whole room was thrown into
agitation. A waiter had come in and begun distributing the
letters which Madame Maj estd had finished sorting. 'Hallo ! '
exclainied M. Vigneron ; ' a letter for me I This is surprising
— I did not give my address to anybody.' Then at a sudden
recollection he added, *Yes I did, though; this must have
come from Sauvageot, who is filling my place at the Ministry.'
He opened the letter, his hands began to tremble, and sud-
denly he raised a cry : ' The chief clerk is dead ! '
Deeply agitated, Madame Vigneron was also unable to
bridle her tongue : ' Then you will have the appointment 1 '
This was the secret dream in which they had so long and
so fondly indulged : the chief clerk's death, in order that he,
Vigneron, assistant chief clerk for ten years past, might at
last rise to the supreme post, the bureaucratic marshalship.
And so great was his delight that he cast aside all restraint.
* Ah ! the Blessed Virgin is certainly protecting me, my dear.
Only this morning I again prayed to her for a rise, and, you
see, she grants my prayer 1 '
However, finding Madame Chaise's eyes fixed upon his
own, and seeing Gustavo smUe, he realised that he ought not
to exult in this fashion. Each member of the family no
doubt thought of his or her iaterests and prayed to the
Blessed Virgin for such personal favours as might be desired.
And so, again putting on his good-natured air, he resumed :
,' I mean that the Blessed Virgin takes an interest in every one
of us and will send us all home well satisfied. Ah ! the poor
chief, I'm sorry for him. I shall have to send my card to his
widow.'
In spite of all his efforts he could not restrain his exulta-
tion, and no longer doubted that his most secret desires, those
which he did not even confess to himself, would soon be
gratified. And so all honour was done to the apricot tarts,
even Gustavo being allowed to eat a portion of one.
' It is surprising,' now remarked M. de Guersaint, who
had just ordered a cup of coffee ; ' it is surprising that one
doesn't see more sick people here. All these folk seem to
me to have first-rate appetites.'
After a close inspection, however, vx addition to Gustave,
2i6 LOVRDES
who ate no more than a little chicken, he ended^ bj finding a
man with a goitre seated at the tahU d'hdte between two
women, one of whom certainly suffered from cancer. Far-
ther on, too, there was a girl so thin and pale that she must
surely be a consumptive. And still farther away there was
a female idiot who had made her entry leaning on two rela-
tives, and with expressionless eyes and lifeless features was now
carrjring her food to her mouth with a spoon, and slobbering
over her napkin. Perhaps there were yet other ailing ones
present who could not be distinguished among all those noisy
appetites, ailing ones whom the journey had braced, and
who were eating as they had not eaten for a long time past.
The apricot tarts, the cheese, the fruits were aU engulfed
amidst the increasing disorder of the table, where at last there
only remained the stains of all the wine and sauce which had
been spilt upon the cloth.
It was nearly noon. ' We will go back to the Grotto at
once, eh? ' said M. Vigneron.
Indeed, ' To the Grotto ! To the Grotto ! ' were well-nigh
the only words you now heard. The full mouths were
eagerly masticating and swallowing, in order that they might
repeat prayers and hymns again with all speed.
' "Well, as we have the whole afternoon before us,' declared
M. de Guersaint, ' I suggest that we should visit the town a
little. I want to see also if I can get a conveyance for my
excursion, as my daughter so particularly wishes me to make
it.'
Pierre, who was stifling, was glad indeed to leave the
dining-room. In the porch he was able to breathe again,
though even there he found a torrent of customers, new
arrivals who were waiting for places. No sooner did one of
the little tables become vacant than its possession was
eagerly contested, whilst the smallest gap at the tahle d'hdte
was instantly fiUed up. In this wise the assault would con-
tinue for more than another hour, and again would the
different courses of the menu appear in procession, to be
engulfed amidst the crunching of jaws, the stifling heat, and
the growing nausea.
THE 'ORDINARY* ai7
II
THE 'OEDINABt'
When Pierre and M. de Guersaint got outside tbey began walk-
ing slowly amidst the ever-growing stream of the Sundayfied
crowd. The sky was a bright blue, the sun warmed the whole
town, and there was a festive gaiety in the atmosphere, the
keen delight that attends those great fairs which bring entire
communities into the open air. When they had descended
the crowded footway of the Avenue de la Grotte, and had
reached the comer of the Plateau de la Merlasse, they found
their way barred by a throng which was slowly flowing back-
ward amidst a block of vehicles and stamping of horses.
* There is no hurry, however,' remarked M. de Guersaint.
' My idea is to go as far as the Place du Marcadal in the pld
town ; for the servant girl at the hotel told me of a hair-
dresser there whose brother lets out conveyances cheaply.
Do you mind going so far ? '
' I ? ' replied Pierre. ' Go wherever you like, I'll follow
you.'
'All right — and I'll profit by the opportunity to have
a shave.'
They were nearing the Place du Eosaire, and found them-
selves in front of the lawns stretching to the Gave, when
an encounter again stopped them. Mesdames D^sagneaux and
Baymonde de Jonqui^re were here, chatting gaily with young
Gerard de Peyrelongue. Both women wore light-coloured
gowns, seaside dresses as it were, and their white silk parasols
shone in the bright sunlight. They irdparted, so to say, a
pretty note to the scene — a touch of society chatter blended
with the fresh laughter of youth.
' No, no,' Madame D6sagneaux was saying, ' we certainly
can't go and visit your " ordinary " like that — at the very
moment when all your comrades are eating.'
Gerard, however, with a very gallant air, insisted on their
accompanying him, turning more particularly towards Bay-
monde, whose somewhat massive face was that day brightened
by the radiant charm of health.
'But it is a very curious sight, I assure you,' said the
young man, • and you would be very respectfully received.
Trust yourself to me, mademoiselle. Besides, we should
8i8 LOURDES
certainly find M. Berthaud there, and be wotdd be deligbted
to do you the honours.'
Eaymonde smiled, her clear eyes plainly saying that she
was quite agreeable. And just then, as Pierre and M. de
Guersaint drew near in order to present their respects to the
ladies, they were made acquainted with the question under
discussion. The < ordinary ' was a Mnd of restaurant or table
d'hdte which the members of the Hospitality of Our Lady of
Salvation — the bearers, the hospitallers of the Grotto, the
piscinas and the hospitals — had established among themselves
with the view of taking their meals together at small cost.
Many of them were not rich, for they were recruited among
all classes ; however, they bad contrived to secure three good
meals for a daily payment of three francs apiece. And in
fact they often had provisions^ to spare and distributed them
among the poor. Everything was in their own management :
they purchased their own supplies, recruited a cook and a few
waiters, and did not disdain to lend a hand themselves, in
order that everything might be comfortable and orderly.
' It must be very interesting,' said M. de Guersaint when
these explanations bad been given him. ' Let us go and see
it, if we are not in the way.'
Little Madame Ddsagneaux thereupon gave her consent.
' Well, if we are going in a party,' said she, ' I am quite
wilUng. But when this gentleman first proposed to take me
and Baymonde, I was afraid that it might not be quite
proper.'
Then, as she began to laugh, the others followed her
example. She had accepted M. de Guersaint's arm, and
Pierre walked beside her on the other hand, experiencing a
sudden feeling of sympathy for this gay little woman, who was
so full of life and so charming with her fair frizzy hair and
creamy complexion.
Behind them came Baymonde, leaning upon Gerard's arm
and talking to him in the calm, staid voice of a young lady
who holds the best of principles despite her air of heedless
youth. And since here was the husband whom she bad so
often dreamt of, she resolved that she would this time secure
bim, make him beyond all question her own. She intoxicated
him with the perfume of health and youth which she diffused,
and at the same time astonished him by her knowledge of
housewifely duties and of the manner in which money may be
economised even in the most trifling matters; for having
THE * ORDINARY' 219
questioned him with regard to the purchases which he and
his comrades made for their ' ordinary,' she proceeded to show
him that they might have reduced their expenditure still
further.
Meantime M. de Guersaint and Madame Dfisagneaus were
also chatting together : 'You must he fearfully tired, madame,'
said the architect.
But with a gesture of revolt, and an exclamation of
genuine anger, she replied : ' Oh no, indeed ! Last night, it is
true, fatigue quite overcame me at the hospital ; I sat down
and dozed off, and Madame de Jonqui^re and the other ladies
were good enough to let me sleep on.' At this the others
again began to laugh ; but stiU with the same angry air she
continued : ' And so I slept like a log until this morning. It
was disgraceful, especially as I had sworn that I would
remain up all night.' Then, merriment gaining upon her in
her turn, she suddenly burst into a sonorous laugh, displaying
her beautiful white teeth. ' Ah ! a pretty nurse I am, and no
mistake 1 It was poor Madame de JonquiSre who had to
remain on her legs all the time. I tried to coax her to come
out with us just now. But she preferred to take a little rest.'
.Baymonde, who overheard these words, thereupon raised
her voice to say: 'Yes, indeed, my poor mamma could no
longer keep on her feet. It was I who compelled her to He
down, teUing her that she could go to sleep without any
uneasiness, for we should get on all right without
her '
So saying, the girl gave Gerard a laughing glance. He
even fancied that he could detect a faint squeeze of the
fresh round arm which was resting on his own, as though,
indeed, she had wished to express her happiness at being alone
(rith him so that they might settle their own affairs without
any interference. This quite delighted him ; and he began
to explain that if he had hot haAdijeuner with his comrades
that day, it was because some friends had invited him to join
them at the railway-station refreshment-room at ten o'clock,
and had not given him his liberty until after the departure
of the eleven-thirty train.
' Ah 1 the rascals I ' he suddenly resumed. ' Do you hear
them, mademoiselle ? '
The little party was now nearing its destination, and the
uproarious laughter and chatter of youth rang out from a
clump of trees which concealed the old zinc and plaster
220 lovrdes
building in which the 'ordinary' was installed. Gdrard
began by taking the visitors into the kitchen, a very spacious
apartment, well fitted up, and containing a huge range and
an immense table, to say nothing of numerous gigantic
cauldrons. Here, moreover, the young man called the atten-
tion of his companions to the circumstance that the cookj a
fat, jovial looking man, had the red cross pinned on his white
jacket, being himself a member of the pilgrimage. Then,-
pushing open a door, Gerard invited his friends to enter the
common room.
It was a long apartment containing two rows of plain deal
tables ; and the only other articles of fumitiure were the
numerous rush-seated tavern chairs, with an additional table
which served as a sideboard. The whitewashed walls and
the flooring of shiny red tiles looked, however, extremely
clean amidst this intentional bareness, which was similar to
that of a monkish refectory. But the feature of the place
which more particularly struck you, as you crossed the
threshold, was the childish gaiety which reigned there ; for,
packed together at the tables, were a hundred and fifty hos-
pitallers of all ages, eating with splendid appetites, laughing,
applauding, and singing with their mouths full. A wondrous
fraternity united these men, who had flocked to Lourdes from
every province of France, and who belonged to all classes
and represented every degree of fortune. Many of them
knew nothing of one another, save that they met here and
elbowed one another during three days every year, living
together like brothers, and then going off and remaining in
absolute ignorance of each other during the rest of the twelve-
month. Nothiag could be more charming, however, than to
meet again at the next pilgrimage, nnited in the same chari-
table work, and to spend a few days of hard labour and boyish
delight in common once more ; for it all became, as it were,
an ' outing ' of a number of big fellows, let loose under a
lovely sky, and well pleased to be able to enjoy themselves
and laugh together. And even the frugaUty of the table,
with the pride of managing things themselves, of eating the
provisions which they had purchased and cooked, added to
the general good humour.
' You see,' explained Gerard, ' we are not at all inclined to
be sad, although we have so much hard work to get through.
The Hospitality numbers more than three hundred members,
but there are only about one hundred and fifty here at a time,
THE 'ORDINARY' 221
for we have had to organise two successive Services, so that
there may always be some of us on duty at the Grotto and the
hospitals.
The sight of the little party of visitors assembled on the
threshold of the room seemed to have increased the general
delight; and Berthaud, the Superintendent of the Bearers,
who was lunching at the head of one of the tables, gallantly
rose up to receive the ladies.
' But it smells very nice,' exclaimed Madame D^sagneaux
in her giddy way. ' Won't you invite us to come and taste your
cookery to-morrow ? '
' Oh ! we can't ask ladies,' replied Berthaud, laughing.
' But if you gentlemen would like to join us to-morrow we
should be extremely pleased to entertain you."
He had at once noticed the good understanding which pre-
vailed between Gerard and Eaymonde, and seemed delighted
at it, for he greatly wished his cousin to make this match.
He laughed pleasantly at the enthusiastic gaiety which the
young girl displayed as she began to question him. ' Is not
that the Marquis de Salmon-Eoquebert,' she asked, ' who is
sitting over yonder between these two young men who look
like shop assistants ? '
' They are, in fact, the sons of a small stationer at Tarbes,'
replied : Berthaud ; ' and that is really the Marquis, your
neighbour of the Eue de Lille, the owner of that magnificent
mansion, one of the richest and most noble men of title in
France. You see how he is enjoying our mutton stew ! '
It was true, the millionaire Marquis seemed delighted to
be able to board himself for his three francs a day, and to sit
down at table in genuine democratic fashion by the side of
petty bourgeois and workmen who would not have dared to
accost him in the street. Was not that chance table
symboUcal of social communion, effected by the joint practice
of charity ? For his part, the Marquis was the more hungry
that day, as he had bathed over sixty patients, sufferers from
all the most abominable diseases of unhappy humanity, at the
piscinas that morning. And the scene around him seemed
like a realisation of the evangelical commonalty ; but doubt-
less it was so charming and so gay simply because its duration
was limited to three dkys.
Although M.de Guersaint had but lately risen from table,
his' curiosity prompted him to taste the mutton stew, and he
pronounced it perfect. Meantime, Pierre caught sight of
223 LOURDES
Baron Snire, the director of the Hospitality, waUdng ahout
between the rows of tables with an air of some importance, as
though he had allotted himself the task of keeping an eye on
everything, even on the manner in which his staff fed itself.
The young priest thereupon remembered the ardent desire
which Marie had expressed to spend the night in front of the
Grotto, and it occurred to him that the Baron might be
wilUng to give the necessary authorisation.
* Certainly,' replied the director, who had become quite
grave whilst listening to Pierre, ' we do sometimes aUow it ;
but it is always a very delicate matter ! You assure me at
all events that this young person is not consumptive ? Well,
well, since you say that she so much desires it I wiU mention
the matter to Father Fourcade and warn Madame de
Jonqui^re, so that she may let you take the young lady
away.'
He was in reality a very good-natured fellow, albeit
so fond of assuming the air of an indispensable man weighed
down by the heaviest responsibilities. In his turn he now
detained the visitors, and gave them fall particulars concern-
ing the organisation of the Hospitality. Its members said
prayers together every morning. Two board meetings were
held each day, and were attended by all the heads of depart-
ments, as well as by the reverend Fathers and some of the
chaplains. All the hospitallers took the Sacrament as fre<
quently as possible. And, moreover, there were many compli-
cated tasks to be attended to, a prodigious rotation of duties,
quite a little world to be governed with a firm hand. The
Baron spoke hke a general who each year gains a great
victory over the spirit of the age; and, sending Berthaud
back to finish his dijeun&r, he insisted on escorting the ladies
into the little sanded courtyard, which was shaded by some
Gne trees.
' It is very interesting, very interesting,' repeated Madame
D^sagneaux. ' We are greatly obhged to you for your kindness,
monsieur.'
' Don't mention it, don't mention it, madame,' answered
the Baron. ' It is I who am pleased at having had an oppor-
tunity to show you my httle army."
So far G&'ard had not quitted Eaymonde's side ; but
M. de Guersaint and Pierre were already exchanging glances
suggestive of leave-taking, in order that they might repair by
themselves to the Place du Marcadal, when Madame Dfeag-
THE * ORDINARY* 223
neaux suddenly remembered that a friend had requested her
to send her a bottle of Lourdea water. And she thereupon
asked Gdrard how she tras to execute this commission. The
young man began to laugh. ' Will you again accept me as a
guide ? ' said he. ' And, by the way, if these gentlemen like to
come as well, I wiU show you the place where the bottles are
filled, corked, packed in cases, and then sent off. It is a
curious sight.'
M. de Guersaint immediately consented ; and aU five of
them set out again, Madame D^sagneaux still between the
architect and the priest, whilst Baymonde and Gdrard
brought up the rear. The crowd in the burning sunlight was
increasing ; the Place du Eosaire was now overflowing with an
idle sauntering mob resembling some concourse of sightseers
on a day of public rejoicing.
The bottling and packing shops were situated under one
of the arches on the left-hand side of the Place. They formed
a suite of three apartments of very simple aspect. In the
first one the bottles were filled in the most ordinary of
fashions. A httle green-painted zinc barrel, not unlike a
watering-cask, was dragged by a man from the Grotto, and
the light-coloured bottles were then simply filled at its tap,
one by one; the blouse-clad workman entrusted with the
duty exercising no particular watchfulness to prevent the
water from overflowing. In fact there was quite a puddle of
it upon the ground. There were no labels on the bottles ;
the little leaden capsules placed over the corks alone bore an
inscription, and they were coated with a kind of ceruse,
doubtless to ensure preservation. Then came two other
rooms which formed regular packing shops, with carpenters'
benches, tools, and heaps of shavings. The boxes, most
frequently made for one bottle or for two, were put together
with great care, and the bottles were deposited inside them,
on beds of fine wood parings. The scene reminded one in
some degree of the packing halls for flowers at Nice and for
preserved fruits at Grasse.
Gerard went on giving explanations with a quiet, satisfied
air. ' The water,' he said, ' really comes from the Grotto as
you can yourselves see, so that all the foolish jokes which one
hears reaUy have no basis. And everything is perfectly
simple; natural, and goes on in the broad daylight. I would
also point out to you that the Fathers don't seU the water as
they are accused of doing. For instance, a bottle of watei
224 LOURDES
here costs twenty centimes (2i.), which is only the price
of the bottle itself. If you wish to have it sent to anybody
you naturally have to pay for the packing and the carriage,
and then it costs you one franc and seventy centimes (Is. 4d.).
However, you are perfectly at liberty to go to the source and fill
the flasks and cans and other receptacles that you may choose
to bring with you.'
Pierre reflected that the profits of the reverend Fathers in
this respect could not be very large ones, for their gains were
limited to what they made by manufacturing the boxes and sup-
plying the bottles, which latter, purchased by the thousand,
certainly did not cost them so much as twenty centimes apiece.
However, Eaymonde and Madame D^sagneaux, as well as
M. de Guersaint, who had such a lively imagination, experi-
enced deep disappointment at sight of the little green barrel, the
capsules, sticky with ceruse, and the piles of shavings lying
around the benches. They had doubtless imagined all sorts
of ceremonies, the observance of certain rites in bottling the
miraculous water, priests ia vestments pronouncing blessings,
and choirboys singing hymns of praise in pure crystalline
voices. For his part, Pierre, in presence of all this vulgar
bottling and packmg, ended by thinking of the active power of
faith. When one of those bottles reaches some far-away sick-
room, and is unpacked there, and the sufferer falls upon his
knees, and so excites himself by contemplating and drinking
the pure water that he actually brings about the cure of his
ailment, there must truly be a most extraordinary plunge into
all-powerful illusion.
' Ah ! ' exclaimed Gerard, as they came out, ' would you
like to see the storehouse where the tapers are kept before
going to the offices ? It is only a couple of steps away.'
And then, not even waiting for their answer, he led them
to the opposite side of the Place du Eosaire. His one desire
was to amuse Eaymonde, but, in point of fact, the aspect of
the place where the tapers were stored was even less
entertaining than that of the packing-rooms which they had
just left. This storehouse, a kind of deep vault under one of
the right-hand arches of the Place, was divided by timber into
a number of spacious compartments, in which lay an extra-
ordinary collection of tapers, classified according to size. The
overplus of all the tapers ofl'ered to the Grotto was deposited
here ; and such was the number of these superfluous candles
that the little conveyances stationed near the Grotto-railing,
THE < ORDINARY' 225
ready to receive the pilgrims' offerings, had to be brought to
the storehouse several times a day in order to be emptied
there, after which they were returned to the Grotto, and were
promptly filled again. In theory, each taper that was
offered ought to have been burnt at the feet of the Virgin's
statue ; but so great was the number of these offerings, that,
although a couple of hundred tapers of all sizes were kept
burning by day and night, it was impossible to exhaust the
supply, which went on increasing and increasing. There was
a rumour that the Fathers could not even find room to store all
this wax, but had to sell it over and over again ; and, indeed,
certain friends of the Grotto confessed, with a -touch of pride,
that the profit on the tapers alone would have sufficed to
defray all the expenses of the business.
The quantity of these votive candles quite stupefied Eay-
monde and Madame D^sagneaux. How many, how many
there were ! The smaller ones, costing from fifty centimes to
a franc apiece, were piled up in fabulous numbers. M. de
Guersaint, desirous of getting at the exact figures, quite lost
himself in the puzzling calculation he attempted. As for Pierre,
it was in silence that he gazed upon this mass of wax, destined
to be burnt in open dayUght to the glory of God ; and although
he was by no means a rigid utilitarian, and could well under
stand that some apparent acts of extravagance yield an
illusive enjoyment and satisfaction which provide humanity
with as much sustenance as bread, he could not, on the other
hand, refi:ain from reflecting on the many benefits which
might have been conferred on the poor and the aiUng with the
money represented by all that wax, which would fly away in
smoke.
' But come, what about that bottle which I am to send
off ? ' abruptly asked Madame D6sagneaux.
'We will go to the office,' replied Gerard. 'In five
minutes everything will be settled.'
They had to cross the Place du Eosaire once more and
ascend the stone stairway leading to the Basilica. The
■ office was up above, on the left hand, at the comer of the
path leading to the Calvary. The building was a paltry one,
a hut of lath and plaster which the wind and the rain had
reduced to a state of ruin. On a board outside was the
inscription : ' Apply here with reference to Masses, Offerings,
and Brotherhoods. Forwarding office for Lourdes water.
Subscriptions to the "Annals of 0. L. of Lourdes," ' How
a
226 LOURDES
many millions of people must have already passed through
this -wretched shanty, which seemed to date&om the innocent
days when the foundations of the adjacent Basilica had
scarcely been laid 1
The whole party went in, eager to see what might be
inside. But they simply found a wicket at which Madame
D^sagneaux had to stop in order to give her friend's name
and address ; and when she had paid one franc and seventy
centimes, a small printed receipt was handed her, such as you
receive on registering luggage at a railway station.
As soon as they were outside again Gerard pointed to a
large building standing two or three hundred yards away,
and resumed : ' There, that is where the Fathers reside.'
' But we see nothing of them,' remarked Pierre.
This observation so astonished the young man that he
remained for a moment without replying. ' It's true,' he at
last said, 'we do not see them, but then they give up the
custody of everything — the Grotto and all the rest— to the
Fathers of the Assumption during the national pilgri-
mage.'
Pierre looked at the building which had been pointed out
to him, and noticed that it was a massive stone pile resembUng
a fortress. The windows were closed, and the whole edifice
looked lifeless. Yet everything at Lourdes came from it, and
to it also everything returned. It seemed, in fact, to the
young priest that he could hear the silent, formidable, rake-
stroke which extended over the entire valley, which caught
hold of aU who had come to the spot, and placed both the
gold and the blood of the throng in the clutches of thosft
reverend Fathers ! However, Gerard just then resumed in a
low voice : ' But come, they do show themselves, for here is
the reverend superior, Father Capdebarthe himself.'
An ecclesiastic was indeed just passing, a man vrith the
appearance of a peasant, a knotty frame, and a large head
which looked as though carved with a billhook. His opaque
eyes were quite expressionless, and his face, with its worn
features, had retained a loamy tint, a gloomy, russet reflec-
tion of the earth. Monseigneur Laurence had really made a
poUtio selection in confiding the organisation and manage-
ment of the Grotto to those Garaison missionaries, who were
so tenacious and covetous, for the most part sons of mountain
peasants and passionately attached to the soil.
However, the little party now slowly retraced its steps by
THE 'ORDINARY* S27
way of the Plateau de la Merlasse, the broad boulevard which
skirts the inclined way on the left hand and leads to the
Avenue de la Grotte. It was already past one o'clock, but
people were still eating their d&jeuners from one to the other
end of the overflowing town. Many of the fifty thousand
pilgrims and sightseers collected within it had not yet been
able to sit down and eat ; and Pierre, who had left the table
d'hdte stiU crowded, who had just seen the hospitallers
squeezing together so gaily at the ' ordinary,' found more and
more tables at each step he took. On all sides people were
eating, eating without a pause. Hereabouts, however, in the
open air, on either side of the broad road, the hungry ones
were humble folk who had rushed upon the tables set up on
either footway — tables formed of a couple of long boards,
flanked by two forms, and shaded from the sun by narrow
hnen awnings. Broth and coffee were sold at these places at
a penny the cup. The little loaves heaped up in high baskets
also cost a penny apiece. Hanging from the poles which
upheld the awnings were sausages, chitterlings, and hams.
Some of the open-air restaurateurs were frying potatoes, and
others were concocting more or less savoury messes of inferior
meat and onions. A pungent smoke, a violent odour, arose
into the sunlight, mingling with the dust which was raised
by the continuous tramp of the promenaders. Eows of people,
moreover, were waiting at each cantine, so that each time a
party rose from table fresh customers took possession of the
benches ranged beside the oilcloth-covered planks, which were
so narrow that there was scarcely room for two bowls of soup
to be placed side by side. And one and all made haste, and
devoured with the ravenous hunger born of their fatigue, that
insatiable appetite which so often follows upon great moral
shocks. In fact, when the mind had exhausted itself in
prayer, when everything physical had been forgotten amidst
the mental flight into the legendary heavens, the human
animal suddenly appeared, again asserted itself, and began to
gorge. Moreover, under that dazzling Sunday sky, the scene
was Uke that of a fair-field with all the gluttony of a merry-
making community, a display of the delight which they felt
in living, despite the multiplicity of their abominable ailments
and the dearth of the miracles they hoped for.
'They eat, they amuse themselves, what else can one
expect?' remarked G&ard, guessing the thoughts of his
amiable companions,
Q2
228 LOURDES
' Ah I poor people ! ' mumnired Pierre, * they have a
perfect right to do so,'
He was greatly touched to see human nature reassert
itself in this fashion. However, when they had got to the
lower part of the boulevard near the Grotto, his feelings were
hurt at sight of the desperate eagerness displayed by the
female vendors of tapers and bouquets, who with the rough
fierceness of conquerors assailed the passers-by in bands.
They were mostly young women, with bare heads, or with
kerchiefs tied over their hair, and they displayed extraordinary
effrontery. Even the old ones were scarcely more discreet.
With parcels of tapers under their arms, they brandished the
one which they offered for sale and even thrust it into the
hand of the promenader. ' Monsieur,' ' madame,' they called,
' buy a taper, buy a taper, it will bring you luck ! ' One
gentleman, who was surroimded and shaken by three of the
youngest of these harpies, almost lost the skirts of his frock-
coat in attempting to escape their clutches. Then the scene
began afresh with the bouquets — large round bouquets they
were, carelessly fastened together and looking like cabbages.
* A bouquet, madame ! ' was the cry. ' A bouquet for the
Blessed Virgin ! ' If the lady escaped she heard muttered
insults behind her. Trafficking, impudent trafficking, pur-
sued the pUgrims to the very outskirts of the Grotto. Trade
was not merely triumphantly installed in every one of the
shops, standing close together and transforming each street
into a bazaar, but it overran the footways and barred the
road with hand-carts full of chaplets, medals, statuettes, and
reUgious prints. On all sides people were buying almost to
the same extent as they ate, in order that they might take
away with them some souvenir of this holy Kermesse. And
the bright gay note of this commercial eagerness, this scramble
of hawkers, was suppUed by the urchins who rushed about
through the crowd, crying the ' Jom-nal de la Grotte.* Their
sharp shrill voices pierced the ear : ' The " Journal de la
Grotte," this morning's number, two sous, the " Journal de la
Grotte." '
Amidst the continual pushing which accompanied the
eddying of the ever-moving crowd, Gerard's httle party
became separated. He and Eaymonde remained behind the
others. They had begun talking together in low tones, with
an air of smiling intimacy, lost and isolated as they were in
the dense crowd, An^ Madame D^sagneaux at last had to
THE * ORDINARY' 229
stop, look back, and call to them : ' Come on, or we shall lose
one another ! '
As they drew near, Pierre heard the girl exclaim : ' Mamma
is so very busy ; speak to her before we leave.' And Gerard
thereupon replied : ' It is -understood. You have made me very
happy, mademoiselle.'
Thus the husband had been secured, the marriage decided
upon during this charming promenade among the sights of
Lourdes. Eaymonde had completed her conquest and G6rard
had at last taken a resolution, realising how gay and sensible
she was, as she walked beside him leaning on his arm.
M. de Guersaint, however, had raised his eyes, and was
heard inquiring: 'Are not those people up there, on that
balcony, the rich folk who made the journey in the same
train as ourselves ? — You know whom I mean, that lady who
is so very ill, and whose husband and sister accompany her ? '
He was alluding to the Dieulafays ; and they indeed were
the persona whom he now saw on the balcony of a suite of
rooms which they had rented in a new house overlooking the
lawns of the Eosary. They here occupied a first-floor, fur-
nished with all the luxury that Lourdes could provide, carpets,
hangings, mirrors, and many other things, without mentioning
a staff of servants despatched beforehand from Paris. As the
weather was so fine that afternoon, the large armchair on
which lay the poor aihng woman had been rolled on to the
balcony. You could see her there, clad in a lace peignoir.
Her husband, always correctly attired in a black frock-coat,
stood beside her on her right hand, whilst her sister, in a
delightful pale mauve gown, sat on her left, smiling and
leaning over every now and then so as to speak to her, but
apparently receiving no reply.
' Oh I ' declared little Madame Desagneaux, ' I have often
heard people speak of Madame Jousseur, that lady in mauve.
She is the wife of a diplomatist who neglects her, it seems, in
spite of her 'rare beauty ; and last year there was a great
deal of talk about her fancy for a young colonel who is well
known in Parisian society. It is said, however, in Catholic
salons that her religious principles enabled her to conquer it.'
They aU five remained there, looking up at the balcony .-
' To think,' resumed Madame Desagneaux, ' that her sister,
poor woman, was once her living portrait. And, indeed,
there was an expression of greater kindliness and more gentle
gaiety on Madame Dieulafay's face. And now you see her —
230 tOURDES
no different from a dead woman except that she is above
instead of under ground — with her flesh wasted away, reduced
to a livid boneless thing which they scarcely dare to move.
Ah ! the unhappy woman ! '
Baymonde thereupon assured the others that Madame
Dieulaf ay, who had been married scarcely two years previously,
had brought all the jewellery given her on the occasion of her
wedding to offer it as a gift to Our Lady of Lourdes ; and
Gerard confirmed this assertion, saying that the jewellery
had been handed over to the treasurer of the BasUica that
very morning with a golden lantern studded with gems and a
large sum of money destined for the rehef of the poor. How-
ever, the Blessed Virgin could not have been touched as yet,
for the sufferer's condition seemed, if anything, to be worse.
From that moment Pierre no longer beheld aught save
that young woman on that handsome balcony, that woeful
wealthy creature lying there high above the merrymaking
throng, the Lourdes mob which was feasting and laughing in
the Sunday sunshine. The two dear ones who were so
tenderly watching over her — ^her sister who had forsaken her
society triumphs, her husband who had forgotten his financial
business, his millions dispersed throughout the world — ^in-
creased, by their irreproachable demeanour, the woefulness of
the group which they thus formed on high, above all other
heads, and face to face with the lovely valley. For Pierre
they alone remained ; and they were exceedingly wealthy and
exceedingly wretched.
However, lingering in this wise on the footway with
their eyes upturned, the five promenaders narrowly escaped
being knocked down and run over, for at every moment fresh
vehicles were coming up, for the most part landaus drawn by
four horses, which were driven at a fast trot, and whose bells
jingled merrily. The occupants of these carriages were
tourists, visitors to the waters of Pan, Barnes and Cauterets,
whom curiosity had attracted to Lourdes, and who were de-
lighted with the fine weather and quite inspirited by their
rapid drive across the mountains. They would remain at
Lourdes only a few hours ; after hastening to the Grotto and
the Basilica in seaside costumes, they would start off again,
laughing, and well pleased at having seen it all. In this wisa
families in light attire, bands of young women with bright
parasols, darted hither and thither among the grey, neutral-
tinted crowd of pDgrims, imparting to it, in a yet more pro-
THE 'ORDINARY* 231
nounced manner, the aspect of a fair-day mob, amidst which
folks of good society deign to come and amuse themselves.
All at once Madame Ddsagneaux raised a cry: 'What,
is it you, Berthe ? ' And thereupon she embraced a tall,
charming brunette who had just ahghted from a landau with
three other young women, the whole party smiling and ani-
mated. Everyone began talking at once and all sorts of
merry exclamations rang out, in the delight they felt at
meeting in this fashion. ' Oh ! we are at Cauterets, my
dear,' said the tall brunette. ' And as everybody comes here,
we decided to come all four together. And your husband, is
he here with you ? '
Madame D6sagneaux began protesting : ' Of course not,'
said she. ' He is at Trouville, as you ought to know. I shall
start to join him on Thursday.'
* Yes, yes, of course ! ' resumed the tall brunette, who,
like her friend, seemed to be an amiable, giddy creature, ' I was
forgetting ; you are here with the pilgrimage.'
Then Madame Ddsagneaux ofered to guide her friends,
promising to show them everything of interest in less than a
couple of hours ; and turning to Eaymonde, who stood by,
smiling, she added : ' Come with us, my dear ; your mother
won't be anxious.'
The ladies and Pierre and M. de Guersaint thereupon ex-
changed bows : and Gerard also took leave, tenderly pressing
Eaymonde's hand, with his eyes fixed on hers, as though to
pledge himself definitively. The women swiftly departed,
directing their steps towards the Grotto, and when Gerard
also had gone off, returning to his duties, M. de Guersaint
said to Pierre : ' And the hairdresser on the Place du Marca-
daJ, I really must go and see him. You wiU come with me,
won't you ? '
' Of course I will go wherever you like. I am quite at your
disposal as Marie does not need us.'
Following the pathways between the large lawns which
stretch out in front of the Eosary, they reached the new
bridge, where they had another encounter, this time with
Abb? Des Hermoises, who was acting as guide to two young
married ladies who had arrived that morning &om Tarbes.
Walking between them with the gallant air of a society priest,
he was showing them Lourdes and explaining it to them,
keeping them well away, however, from its more repugnant
features, its poor and its ailing folk, its odour of low misery,
232 LOURDES
which, it must be admitted; had well-nigh disappeared that
fine, sunshiny day. _ At the first word which M. de Guersaint
addressed to him with respect to the hiring of a vehicle for the
trip to Gavamie, the Abb6 was seized with a dread lest he
should be obliged to leave his pretty lady- visitors : 'As you
please, my dear sir,' he repUed. ' Kindly attend to the matter,
and—you are quite right, make the cheapest arrangements
possible, for I shall have two ecclesiastics of small means with
me. There will be four of us. Let me know at the hotel this
evening at what hour we shall start.'
Thereupon he again joined Ms lady-friends, and led them
towards the Grotto, following the shady path which skirts the
Gave, a cool, sequestered path well suited for lovers' walks.
Feeling somewhat tired, Pierre had remained apart from
the others, leaning against the parapet of the new bridge.
And now for the first time he was struck by the prodigious
number of priests among the crowd. He saw all varieties of
them swarming across the bridge : priests of correct mien who
had come with the pilgrimage and who could be recognised by
their air of assurance and their clean cassocks ; poor village
priests who were far more timid and badly clothed, and who,
after making sacrifices in order that they might indulge in the
journey, would return home quite scared ; and, finally, there
was the whole cloud of unattached ecclesiastics who had come
nobody knew whence, and who enjoyed such absolute liberty
that it was di£5cult to be sure whether they had even said
their mass that morning. They doubtless found this liberty
very agreeable ; and thus the greater number of them, like
Abb6 Des Hermoises, had simply come on a holiday excur-
sion, free from all duties, and happy at being able to Uve Uke
ordinary men, lost, unnoticed as they were in the multitude
around them. And from the young, carefully groomed and
perfumed priest, to the old one in a dirty cassock and shoes
down at heel, the entire species had its representatives in the
throng — there were corpulent ones, others but moderately fat,
thin ones, tall ones and short ones, some whom faith had
brought and whom ardour was consuming, some also who simply
pUed their calling like worthy men, and some, moreover, who
were fond of intriguing, and who were only present in order
that they might help the good cause. However, Pierre was
quite surprised to see such a stream of priests pass before
him, each with his especial passion, and one and all hurrying
to the Grotto as one hurries to a duty, a belief, a pleasure, or
THE * ORDINARY' 233
a task. He noticed one among the number, a very short,
shm, dark man with a pronounced Italian accent, whose
glittering eyes seemed to be taking a plan of Lourdes, who
looked, indeed, like one of those spies who come and peer
around with a view to conquest ; and then he observed another
one, an enormous fellow with a paternal air, who was breath-
ing hard through iaordinate eating, and who paused in front
of a poor sick woman, and ended by slipping a five-franc piece
into her hand.
Just then, however, M. de Guersaint returned : ' We jnerely
have to go down the boulevard and the Eue Basse,' said he.
Pierre followed him without answering. He had just felt
his cassock on his shoulders for the first time that afternoon,
for never had it seemed so Hght to him as whilst he was
walking about amidst the scramble of the pilgrimage. The
young fellow was now living in a state of mingled unconscious-
ness and dizziness, ever hoping that faith would fall upon
him like a Ughtning flash, in spite of all the vague uneasiness
which was growing within him, at sight of the things which
he beheld. However, the spectacle of that ever-swelling
stream of priests no longer wounded his heart ; fraternal feel-
ings towards these unknown colleagues had returned to him ;
how many of them there must be who believed no more than
he did himself, and yet, like himself, honestly fulfilled their
mission as guides and consolers I
'This boulevard is a new one, you know,' said M. de
Guersaint, aU at once raising his voice. 'The number of
houses built during the last twenty years is almost beyond
beHef. There is quite a new town here.'
The Lapaca flowed along behind the buildings on their
right, and their curiosity inducing them to turn into a narrow
lane, they came upon some strange old structures on the
margin of the narrow stream. Several ancient mills here
displayed their wheels ; among them one which Monseigneur
Laurence had given to Bemadette's parents after the appari-
tions. Tourists, moreover, were here shown the pretended
abode of Bernadette, a hovel whither the Soubirous family
had removed on leaving the Eue des Petits Fossds, and in
which the young girl, as she was already boarding with the
Sisters of Nevers, can have but seldom slept. At last, by
way of the Eue Basse, Pierre and his companion reached the
Place du Marcadal.
This was a long, triangular, open space, the most animated
234 LOURDES
and luxurious of the squares of the old town, the one where
the caf^s, the chemists', all the finest shops were situated.
And, among the latter, one showed conspicuously, coloured as
it was a lively green, adorned with lofty mirrors, and sur-
mounted by a broad board bearing in gilt letters the inscrip-
tion : ' Cazaban, Hairdresser.'
M. de Guersaint and Pierre went in, but there was nobody
in the salon and they had to wait. A terrible clatter of forks
resounded ■ from the adjoining room, an ordinary dining-room
transformed into a tahlt d'hdte, in which some "twenty people
were having d&jeuner although it was already two o'clock.
The afternoon was progressing, and yet people were still eat-
ing from one to the other end of Lourdes. Like every other
householder in the town, whatever his religious convictions
might be, Cazaban, in the pilgrimage season, let his bedrooms,
surrendered his dining-room, and sought refuge in his cellar,
where, heaped up with his family, he ate and slept, although
this unventilated hole was no more than three yards square.
However, the passion for trading and money-making carried
all before it ; at pilgrimage time the whole population dis-
appeared like that of a conquered city, surrendering even the
beds of its women and its children to the pilgrims, seating
them at its tables, and supplying them with food.
'Is there nobody here?' called M. de Guersaint after
waiting a moment.
At last a little man made his appearance, Cazaban
himself, a type of the knotty but active Pyrenean, with a
long face, prominent cheek bones, and a sunburnt com-
plexion spotted here and there with red. His big gUtter-
ing eyes never remamed stiU; and the whole of his spare
little figure quivered with incessant exuberance of speech and
gesture.
' For you, monsieur — a shave, eh ? ' said he. ' I must beg
your pardon for keeping you waiting ; but my assistant has
gone out, and I was in there with my boarders. If you will
kindly sit down, I will attend to you at once.'
Thereupon, deigning to operate in person, Cazaban began
to stir up the lather and strop the razor. He bad glanced
rather nervously, however, at the cassock worn by Pierre,
who without a word had seated himself in a comer and taken
up a newspaper in the perusal of which he appeared to be ab-
sorbed.
A short interval of silence followed ; but it was fraught
THE 'ORDINARY' 235
with Buffering for Oazaban, and wlulst lathering his cus-
tomer's chin he began to chatter : ' My boarders Ungered this
morning such a long time at the Grotto, monsieur, that they
have scarcely sat down to d&jeuner. You can hear them, eh ?
I was staying -with them out of politeness. However, I owe
myself to my customers as well, do I not ? One must try to
please everyjbody.'
M, de Gnersaint, who also was fond of a chat, thereupon
began to question him : • You lodge some of the pilgrims, I
suppose ? '
' Oh ! we aU lodge some of them, monsieur ; it is necessary
for the town,' replied the barber.
' And you accompany them to the Grotto ? '
At this, however, Oazaban revolted, and holding up his
razor, he answered with an air of dignity : ' Never, monsieur,
never ! For five years past I have not been in that new town
which they are bmlding.'
He was still seeking to restrain himself, and again glanced
at Pierre, whose face was hidden by the newspaper. The
sight of the red cross pinned on M. de Guersaint's jacket was
also calculated to render him prudent ; nevertheless his tongue
won the victory. ' Well, monsieur, opinions are free, are they
not ? ' said he. • I respect yours, but for my part I don't be-
lieve in all that phantasmagoria ! Oh ! I've never concealed
it ! I was already a republican and a freethinker in the days
of the Empire. There were barely four men of those views in
the whole town at that time. Oh ! I'm proud of it.'
He had begun to shave M. de Guersaint's left cheek and
was quite triumphant. From that moment a stream of words
poured forth from his mouth, a stream which seemed to be
inexhaustible. To begin with, he brought the same charges
as Majesty against the Fathers of the Grotto. He reproaohed
them for their dealings in tapers, chaplets, prints, and cruci-
fixes, for the disloyal manner in which they competed with
those who sold those articles as well as with the hotel and
lodging-house keepers. And he was also wrathful with the
Blue Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, for had they not
robbed him of two tenants, two old ladies, who spent three
weeks at Lourdes each year? Moreover you could divine
within him all the slowly accumulated, overflowing spite with
which the old town regarded the new town — that town which
had sprung up so quickly on the other side of the castle, that
rich city with houses as big as palaces whither flowed all the
236 LOURDES
life, all tte luxury, all the money of Lourdes, so that it wag
incessantly growing larger and wealthier, whilst its elder
sister, the poor, antique town of the mountains, with its nar-
row, grass-grown, deserted streets, seemed near the point of
death. Nevertheless the struggle still continued; the old
town seemed determined not to die, and, by lodging pilgrims
and opening shops on her side, endeavoured to compel her
ungrateful junior to grant her a share of the spoils. But
custom only flowed to the shops which were near the Grotto,
and only the poorer pilgrims were willing to lodge so far
away ; so that the unequal conditions of the struggle inten-
sified the rupture and turned the high town and the low town
into two irreconcilable enemies, who preyed upon one another
amidst continual intrigues.
' Ah, no I They certainly won't see me at their Grotto,"
resumed Cazaban with his rageful air. ' What an abusive use
they make of that Grotto of theirs ! They serve it up in every
fashion ! To think of such idolatry, such gross superstition
in the nineteenth century 1 Just ask them if they have cured
a single sufferer belonging to the town during the last twenty
years I Yet there are plenty of infirm people crawling about
our streets. It was our folk that benefited by the first
miracles ; but it would seem that the miraculous water has
long lost aU its power, so far as we are concerned. We
are too near it ; people have to come from a long distance if
they want it to act on them. It's really all too stupid;
why, I wouldn't go there even if I were offered a hundred
francs ! '
Pierre's immobility was doubtless irritating the barber.
He had now begun to shave M. de G«ersaint's right cheek ;
and was inveighing against the Fathers of the Immaculate
Conception, whose greed for gain was the one cause of all the
misunderstanding. These Fathers who were at home there,
since they had purchased from the MunioipaUty the land on
which they desired to build, did not even carry out. the stipu-
lations of the contract they had signed, for there were clauses
in it forbidding all trading, such as the sale of the water and
of religious articles. Innumerable actions might have been
brought against them. But they snapped their fingers, and
felt themselves so powerful that they no longer allowed a
single offering to go to the parish, but arranged matters so
that the whole harvest of money should be garnered by the
Grotto and the Basilica.
THE 'ORDINARY' 237
And, all at onee, Cazaban candidly exclaimed : ' If they
were oiily reasonable, if they would only share with us! '
Then, when M. de Guersaint had washed hjs face, and re-
seated himself, the hairdresser resumed : ' And if I were to
tell you, monsieur, what they have done with our poor town !
Forty years ago all the young girls here conducted themselves
properly, I assure you. I remember that in my young days
when a young man was wicked he generally had to go
elsewhere. But times have changed, our manners are no
longer the same. Nowadays nearly all the girls content
themselves with selling candles and nosegays ; and you
must have seen them catching hold of the passers-by and
thrusting their goods into their hands ! It is really shameful
to see so many bold girls about ! They make a lot
of money, acquire lazy habits, and, iQstead of working
during the winter, simply wait for the return of the pilgrim-
age season. And I assure you that the young men don't
need to go elsewhere nowadays. No, indeed ! And add to
all this the suspicious floating element which swells the
population as soon as the first fine weather sets in — the
coachmen, the hawkers, the cantine keepers, all the low-
class wandering folk reeking with grossness and vice — and
you can form an idea of the honest new town which they
have given us with the crowds that come to their Grotto and
their Basilica ! '
Greatly struck by these remarks, Pierre had let his news-
paper fall and begun to listen. It was now, for the first time,
that he fully realised the difference between the two Lourdes
— :old Lourdes so honest and so pious in its tranquil solitude,
and new Lourdes, corrupted, demoralised by the circulation of
so much money, by such a great enforced increase of wealth,
by the ever-growing torrent of strangers sweeping through it,
by the fatal rotting influence of the conflux of thousands of
people, the contagion of evil examples. And what a terrible
result it seemed when one thought of Bernadette, the pure
candid girl kneeling before the wild primitive grotto, when
one thought of all the naive faith, all the fervent purity of
those who had first begun the work t Had they desired that
the whole countryside should be poisoned in this wise by
lucre and human filth ? Yet it had sufficed that the nations
should flock there for a pestilence to break out.
Seeing that Pierre was listening, Cazaban made s,
final threatening gesture as though to sweep away all this
238 LOURDES
piosoaous superstition. Then, relapsing into silence; ha
finished cutting M. de Guersaint's hair.
' There you are, monsieur ! '
The architect rose, and it was only now that he began to
Bpeak of the conveyance which he wished to hire. At first
the hairdresser declined to enter into the matter, pretending
that theymust apply to his brother at the Champ Commun ; but
at last he consented to take the order. A pair-horse landau
for Gavarnie was priced at fifty francs. However, he was so
pleased at having talked so much, and so flattered at hearing
himself called an honest man, that he eventually agreed to
charge only forty francs. There were four persons in the
party, so this would make ten francs apiece. And it was
agreed that they should start off at about two in the morning,
so that they might get back at Lourdes at a tolerably early
hour on the Monday evening.
' The landau will be outside the Hotel of the Apparitions
at the appointed time,' repeated Cazaban in his emphatic
way. ' You may rely on me, monsieur.'
Then he began to listen. The clatter of crockery did not
cease resounding in the adjoining room. People were still
eating there with that impulsive voracity which had spread
from one to the other end of Lourdes. And all at once a
voice was heard calling for more bread.
'Excuse me,' hastily resumed Cazaban, 'my boarders
want me.' And thereupon he rushed away, his hands still
greasy through fingering the comb.
The door remained open for a second, and on the walls of
the dining-room Pierre espied various religious prints, and
notably a view of the Grotto, which surprised him ; in all
probability, however, the hairdresser only hung these en-
gravings there during the pilgrimage season by way of pleasing
his boarders.
It was now nearly three o'clock. When the young priest
and M. de Guersaint got outside they were astonished at the
loud pealing of bells which was flying through the air. The
parish church had responded to the first stroke of vespers
chiniing at the BasUioa ; and now all the convents, one after
another, were contributing to the swelling peals. The
crystalline notes of the bell of the Carmelites mingled with
the grave notes of the bell of the Immaculate Conception ;
and all the joyous bells of the Sisters of Nevers and the
Dominicans were jingling together. In this wise, from
THE 'ORDINARY' 239
morning till ovening on fine days of festivity, the chimes
winged their flight ahove the house-roofs of Lourdes. And
nothing could have been gayer than that sonorous melody
resounding in the broad blue heavens above the gluttonous
town, which had at last lunched, and was now comfortably
digesting as it strolled about in the sunlight.
Ill
THE NIGHT PEOCBSSION
As soon as night had fallen Marie, still lying on her bed at
the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, became extremely im-
patient, for she had learnt through Madame de JonquiSre
that Baron Suite had obtained ftom Father Fourcade the
necessary permission for her to spend the night in front of the
Grotto. Thus she kept on questioning Sister Hyacinthe,
asking her : ' Pray, Sister, is it not yet nine o'clock ? '
' No, my ohUd, it is scarcely half-past eight,' was the
reply. ' Here is a nice woollen shawl for you to wrap round
you at daybreak, for the Gave is close by, and the mornings
are very fresh, you know, in these moimtainous parts.'
' Oh ! but the nights are so lovely. Sister, and besides, I
sleep so little here ! ' replied Marie ; ' I cannot be worse off
out of doors. Mon Dieu, hoASf happy I am ; how delightful it
will be to spend the whole night with the Blessed Virgin.'
The entire ward was jealous of her ; for to remain in
prayer before the Grotto all night long was the most ineffable
of joys, the supreme beatitude. It was said that in the
deep peacefulness of night the chosen ones undoubtedly be-
held the Virgin, but powerful protection was needed to obtain
such a favour as had been granted to Marie ; for nowadays
the reverend Fathers scarcely liked to grant it, as several
sufferers had died during the long vigil, falling asleep, as it
were, in the midst of their ecstasy.
' You wiU take the Sacrament at the Grotto to-morrow
morning, before you are brought back here, won't you, my
child ? ' resumed Sister Hyacinthe.
However, nine o'clock at last struck, and, Pierre not
arriving, the girl wondered whether he, usually so punc-
tual, could have forgotten her ? The others were now talk-
ing to her of the night procession, which she would see from
240 lOURDES
beginning to end if she only started at once. The ceremonies
concluded with a procession every night, but the Sunday one
was always the finest, and that evening, it was said, would
be remarkably splendid, such, indeed, .as was seldom seen.
Nearly thirty thousand pilgrims would take part in it, each
carrying a lighted taper : the nocturnal marvels of the sky
would be revealed ; the stars would descend upon earth. At
this thought the sufferers began to bewail their fate ; what a
wretched lot was theirs, to be tied to their beds, unable to sea
any of those wonders.
At last Madame de Jonquifere approached Marie's bed ;
' My dear girl,' said she, ' here,is your father with Monsieur
rAbbd.'_
Radiant with deHght, the girl at once forgot her weary
waiting. 'Oh! pray let us make haste, Pierre,' she ex-
claimed ; ' pray let us make haste ! '
They carried her down the stairs, and the young priest
harnessed himself to the little car., which gently rolled along,
under the star-studded heavens, whilst M. de Guersaint
walked beside it. The night was moonless, but extremely
beautiful; the vault above looked like deep blue velvet,
spangled with diamonds, and the atmosphere was exquisitely
mild and pure, fragrant with the perfumes from the moun-
tains. Many pilgrims were hurrying along the street, all
bending their steps towards the Grotto, but they formed a
discreet, pensive crowd, with naught of the fair-field, loung-
ing character of the daytime throng. And, as soon as the
Plateau de la Merlasse was reached, the darkness spread out,
you entered into a great lake of shadows formed by the
stretching lawns and lofty trees, and saw nothing rising on
high save the black, tapering spire of the BasUiea.
Pierre grew rather anxious on finding that the crowd
became more and more compact as he advanced. Already .
on reaching the Place du Bosaire it was difficult to taie
another forward step. ' There is no hope of getting to the
Grotto yet awhile,' he said. ' The best course would be to
turn into one of the pathways behind the pilgrims' shelter-
house and wait there.'
Marie, however, greatly desired to see the procession
start. ' Oh ! pray try to go as far as the Gave,' said she. ' I
shall then see everythiiig from a distance ; I don't want to go
near.'
M. de Guersaint, who was equally inquisitive, seconded
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 341
this proposal. ' Don't be uneasy,' he said to Pierre. ' I am
here behind, and ■will take care to let nobody jostle her.'
Pierre had to begin pulUng the little vehicle again. It
took him a quarter of an hour to pass under one of the
arches of the incUned way on the left hand, so great was the
crush of pilgrims at that point. Then, taking a somewhat
oblicLue course, he ended by reaching the quay beside the
Gave, where there were only some spectators standing on the
sidewalk, so that he was able to advance another fifty yards.
At last he halted, and backed the Httle car against the quay
parapet, in fuU view of the Grotto. * Will you be all right
here ? ' he asked.
' Oh yes, thank you. Only you must sit me up ; I shall
then be able to see much better.'
M. de Guersaint raised her into a sitting posture, and
then for his part climbed upon the stonework running from
one to the other end of the quay. A mob of inquisitive
people had already scaled it in part, like sightseers waiting for
a display of fireworks ; and they were all raising themselves
on tiptoe, and craning their necks to get a better view.
Pierre himself at last grew interested, although there was, so
far, little to see.
Some thirty thousand people were assembled, and every
moment there were fresh arrivals. All carried candles, the
lower parts of which were wrapped in white paper, on which a
picture of Our Lady of Lourdes was printed in blue ink. How-
ever, these candles were not yet lighted, and the only illumi-
nation that you perceived above the bUlowy sea of heads was
the bright, forge-hke glow of the taper-lighted Grotto. A great
buzzing arose, whiffs of human breath blew hither and thither,
and these alone enabled you to realise that thousands of ser-
ried, stifling creatures were gathered together in wre-J^ack
depths, Uke a living sea that was ever eddying and spreadihg..^
There were even people hidden away under the trees beyond
the Grotto, in distant recesses of the darkness of which one
had no suspicion.
At last a few tapers began to shine forth here and there,
like sudden sparks of Ught spangling the obscurity at random.
Their number rapidly increased, eyots of stars were formed,
whilst at other points there were meteoric trails, milky ways,
so to say, flowing amidst the constellations. The thirty
thousand tapers were being lighted one by one, their beams
gradually increasing in number till they obscured the bright
B
242 , LOURDES
glow of the Grotto and spread, from one to the other end o!
the promenade, the small yeUow flames of a gigantic brasier.
' Oh ! how beautiful it is, Pierre ! ' murmured Marie ; ' it
is like the resurrection of the humble, the bright awakening
of the souls of the poor.'
'It is superb, superb 1' repeated M. de Guersaint, with
impassioned artistic satisfaction. 'Do you see those two
trails of light yonder, which intersect one another and form a
cross ? *
Pierre's feelings, however, had been touched by what Marie
had just said. He was reflecting upon her words. There was
truth in them. Taken singly, those slender flames, those
mere specks of light, were modest and unobtrusive, like the
lowly ; it was only their great number that supphed the efful-
gence, the sun-Uke resplendency. Fresh ones were continually
appearing, farther and farther away, like waifs and strays.
' Ah ! ' murmured the young priest, ' do you see that one which
has just begun to flicker, all by itself, far away — do you see it,
Marie? Do you see how it .floats and slowly approaches
until it is merged in the great lake of light ? '
In the vicinity of the Grotto one could see now as clearly
as in the daytime. The trees, illumined from below, were
intensely green, like the painted trees in stage scenery. Above
the moving brasier were some motionless banners, whose em-
broidered saints and silken cords showed with vivid distinct-
ness. And the great reflection ascended to the rock, even to
the Basilica, whose spire now shone out, quite white, against
the black sky ; whilst the hillsides across the Gave were like-
\rise brightened, and displayed the pale fronts of their convents
amidst their sombre foliage.
There came yet another moment of uncertainty. The
flaming lake, in which each burning wick was like a little
wave, rolled its starry sparkling as though it were about to
burst from its bed and flow away La a river. Then the banners
began to oscillate, and soon a regular motion set in.
' Oh I so they won't pass this way 1 ' exclaimed M. de
Guersaint in a tone of disappointment.
Pierre, who had informed hunself on the matter, thereupon
explained that the procession would first of all ascend the ser-
pentine road — constructed at great cost up the hillside-^and
that it would afterwards pass behind the BasiUca, descend by
the inclined way on the right hand, and then spread out
through the gardens,
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 243
' Look 1 ' said he ; ' you can see the foremost tapera
ascending amidst the greenery.'
Then came an enchanting spectacle. Little flickering
lights detached themselves from the great bed of fire, and
began gently rising, without it being possible for one to tell at
that distance what connected them with the earth. They
moved upward, looking in the darkness like golden particles
of the sun. And soon they formed an oblique streak, a streak
which suddenly twisted, then extended again until it curved
once more. At last the whole hillside was streaked by a
flaming zigzag, resembling those lightning flashes which you
see falling from black skies in cheap engravings. But, un-
like the lightning, the luminous trail did not fade away ; the
little lights still went onward in the same slow, gentle, gliding
manner. Only for a moment, at rare intervals, was there a
sudden eclipse ; the procession, no doubt, was then passing
behind ^ome clump of trees. But, farther on, the, tapers
beamed forth afresh, rising heavenward by an intricate path,
which incessantly diverged and then started upward again.
At last, however, the time came when the lights no longer
ascended, for they had reached the summit of the hill and
begun to disappear at the last turn of the road.
Exclamations were rising from the crowd. 'They are
passing behind the Basilica,' said one. ' Oh t it will take them
twenty minutes before they begin- coming down on the other
side,' remarked another. ' Yes, madame,' said a third, ' there
are thirty thousand of iihem, and an hour will go by before the
last of them leaves the Grotto.'
Ever since the start a sound of chanting had risen above
the low rumbling of the crowd. The hymn of Bernadette
v/as being sung, those sixty couplets between which the
Angelic Salutation, with its all-besetting rhythm, was ever
returning as a refrain. When the sixty couplets were finished
they were sung again; and that lullaby of 'Ave, ave, ave
Maria ! ' came back incessantly, stupefying the mind, and
gradually transporting those thousands of beings into a kind
of wide-awake dream, with a vision of Paradise before their
eyes. And, indeed, at night-time when they were asleep, their
beds would rock to the eternal tune, which they still and ever
continued singing.
' Are we going to stop here ? ' asked M. de Guersaint, who
speedily got tired of remaining in any one spot, 'Wo see
nothing but the game thing over and over agaiu.'
b8
244 LOURDES
Marie, who had informed herself by listening to what was
said in the crowd, thereupon exclaimed : ' You were quite right,
Pierre ; it would be much better to go back yonder under
the trees. I so much •wish, to see everything.'
' Yes, certainly ; we will seek a spot whence you may see it
all,' replied the priest. • The only difficulty lies in getting away
from here.'
Indeed they were now inclosed within the mob of sight-
seers ; and, in order to secure a passage, Pierre with stubborn
perseverance had to keep on begging a little room for a suffer-
ing girl.
M. de Gnersaint meantime brought np the rear, screening
the little conveyance so that it might not be upset by the
jostling ; whilst Marie turned her head, still endeavouring to
seethe sheet of flame spread out before the Grrotto, that lake
of little sparkling waves which never seemed to diminish,
although the procession continued to flow from it without a
pause.
At last they all three found themselves out of the crowd,
near one of the arches, on a deserted spot where they were able
to breathe for a moment. They now heard nothing but the
distant canticle with its besetting refrain, and they only saw
the reflection of the tapers, hovering like a luminous cloud in
the neighbourhood of the Basilica.
' The best plan would be to climb to the Calvary,' said
M. de Guersaint. ' The servant at the hotel told me so
this morning. From up there, it seems, the scene is fairy-
like.'
But they could not think of making the ascent. Pierre
at once enumerated the difficulties. 'How could we hoist
ourselves to such a height with Marie's conveyance?" he
asked. ' Besides, we should have to come down again, and
that would be dangerous work in the darkness amidst all the
scrambUng.'
Marie herself preferred to remain under the trees in the
gardens, where it was very mild. So they started off, and
reached the esplanade in front of the great crowned statue of
the Virgin. It was illuminated by means of blue and yellow
globes which encompassed it with a gaudy splendour; and
despite aU his piety M. de Guersaint could not help finding
these decorations in execrable taste.
' There I ' exclaimed Marie, ' a good place would be near
those shrubs yonder.'
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 245
She was pointing to a shrubbery near the pilgrim's
shelter-house ; and the spot was indeed an excellent one for
their purpose, as it enabled them to see the procession descend
by the gradient-way on the left hand, and watch it as it passed
between the lawns to the new bridge and back again. Moreover,
a delightful freshness prevailed there by reason of the vicinity
of the Gave. There was nobody there as yet, and one could
enjoy deep peaoefulness in the dense shade which fell from the
big plane-trees bordering the path.
Li his impatience to see the first tapers reappear as soon
as they should have passed behind the Basilica, M. de Guer-
saint had risen on tiptoe. ' I see nothing as yet,' he
muttered, ' so whatever the regulations may be I shall sit on
the grass for a moment. I've no strength left in my legs.'
Then, growing anxious about his daughter, he inquired : ' Shall
I cover you up ? It is very cool here.'
' Oh, no ! I'm not cold, father ! ' answered Marie ; ' I feel
so happy. It is long since I breathed such sweet air. There
must be some roses about — can't you smell that delicious
perfume ? ' And turning to Pierre she asked : ' Where are
the roses, my friend ? Can you see them ? '
When M. de Guersaint had seated himself on the grass
near the little vehicle, it occurred to Pierre to see if there was
not some bed of roses near at hand. But it was in vain that
he explored the dark lawns ; he could only distinguish sundry
clumps of evergreens. And, as he passed in front of the
pilgrim's shelter-house on his way back, curiosity prompted
him to enter it.
This building formed a long and lofty hall, lighted by
large windows upon two sides. With bare walls and a stone
pavement, it contained no other furniture than a number of
benches, which stood here and there in haphazard fashion.
There was neither table nor shelf, so that the homeless pil-
grims who had sought refuge there had piled up their
baskets, parcels, and vaUses in the window embrasures.
Moreover, the place was apparently empty ; the poor folk that
it sheltered had no doubt joined the procession. Nevertheless,
although the door stood wide open, an almost unbearable
emell reigned inside. The very walls seemed impregnated
with an odour of poverty, and in spite of the bright sunshine
which had prevailed during the day, the flagstones were quite
4iimp, soiled and soaked with expectorations, spilt wine, and
grease. This oegs bad been madg by thgpoprer pilgrims, who
846 LOURDES
with their 4irty skins and wretched rags lived in the hall, eat-
ing and sleeping in heaps on the benches.
Pierre speedily came to the conclusion that the pleasant
^mell of roses must emanate from some other spot ; stlU, he
was making the round of the hall, which was lighted by four
Biuoky.'lantems, and which he bdieved to be altogether un-
occupied, when, against the left-hand wall, he was surprised
to espy the vague figure of a woman in black, with what
seemed to be a white parcel lying on her lap. She was
all alone in that soUtude, and did not stir; however, her
eyes were wide open.
He drew near and recognised Madame Vincent. She
addressed him in a deep, broken voice : ' Eose has suffered so
dreadfully to-day 1 Since daybreak she has not ceased
moaning. And so, as she fell asleep a couple of hours ago, I
haven't dared to stir for fear lest she should awake and suffer
again.'
Thus the poor woman remained motionleBS,martyr-mother
that she was, having for long months held her daughter in
her arms in this fashion, in the stubborn hope of curing
her. In her arms, too, she had brought her to Lourdes ; in
her arms she had carried her to the Grotto ; in her arms she
had rocked her to sleep, having neither a room of her own,
nor even a hospital bed at her disposal.
•Isn't the poor little thing any better?' asked Pierre,
whose heart ached at the sight.
' No, Monsieur 1' Abb6 ; no, I think not.'
' But you are very badly off here on this bench. You
should have made an appUcation to the pilgrimage managers
instead of remaining like this, in the street, asit were. ^ Some
accommodation would have been found for your little girl,
at any rate ; that's certain.'
' Oh 1 what would have been the use of it. Monsieur
I'Abb^ ? She is all right on my lap. And besides, should I
have been allowed to stay with her? No, no, I prefer
to have her on my knees ; it seems to me that it will
end by ouriilg her.' Two big tears rolled down the poor
woman's motionless cheeks, and in her stifled voice she
continued : 'I am not pennOess. I had thirty sous when
I left Paris, and I still have ten left. All I need is a little
bread, and she, poor darling, can no longer drink any milk
even. I have Plough to last me till we go back, and if she
gets well again, oh I we shall be rich, rich, rich ! *
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 'ii.f
She had leant forward while speakiiig, and, by the flicker-
ing light of a lantern near by, gazed at Eose, who was breath-
ing faintly, with parted hps. ' You see how soundly she is
Bleeping,' resumed the unhappy mother. ' Surely the Blessed
Virgin will take pity on her and cure her, won't she. Mon-
sieur rAbb6? We only have one day left; still, I don't
despair; and I shall again pray all night long without
moving from here. She will be cured to-morrow ; we must
live till then.'
Infinite pity was filling the heart of Pierre, who, fearing
that he also might weep, now went away. 'Yes, yes, my
poor woman, we must hope, still hope,' said he, as he left
her there among the scattered benches, in that deserted,
malodorous ha,ll, so motionless in her painful maternal
passion as to hold her own breath, fearful lest the heaving of
her bosom should awaken the poor Uttle sufferer. And in
deepest grief, with closed hps, she prayed ardently.
On Pierre returning to Marie's side, the girl inquired
of him : ' Well, and those roses ? Are there any near
here?"
He did not wish to sadden her by telling her what he had
seen, so he simply answered : • No, I have searched the lawns ;
there are none.'
' How singular 1 ' she rejoined, in a thoughtful way. ' The
perfume is both so sweet and penetrating. You can smell
it, can't you ? At this moment it is wonderfully strong, as
though aJl the roses of paradise were flowering around us in
the darkness.'
A low exclamation from her father interrupted her.
M. de Guersaint had risen to his feet again on seeing some
specks of light shine out above the gradient ways on the
left side of the BasiUca. ' At last ! here they come ! ' said he.
It was indeed the head of the procession again appear-
ing to view ; and at once the specks of hght began to swarm
and extend in long, wavering double files. The darkness
submerged everything except these luminous pbmts, which
seemed to be at a great elevation, and to emerge, as it were,
from the black depths of the Unknown. And at the same
time the everla.sting canticle was again heard, but so lightly,
for the procession was far away, that it seemed as yet merely
like the rustle of a coming storm, stirring the leaves of the
trees.
'Ah I I said so,' muttered M. de Guersaint j ' erne ought
248 LOURDES
to be at the Calvary to see everything.' With the obstinacy
of a child he kept on returning to his first idea, again and again
complaining that they had chosen ' the worst possible place.'
' But why don't you go up to the Calvary, papa ? ' at last
said Marie. There is stUl time. Pierre will stay here with
me.' And with a mournful laugh she added : ' Go ; you
know very well that nobody wiU. run away with me.'
He at first refused to act upon the suggestion, but, un-
able to resist his desire, he all at once fell in with it. And he
had to hasten his steps, crossing the lawns at a run. ' Don't
move,' he called ; ' wait for me under the trees. I will tell
you of aU that I may see up there.'
Pierre and Marie remained alone in that dim, solitary
nook, whence came such a perfume of roses, albeit no roses
could be found. And they did not speak, but in silence
watched the procession, which was now coining down from
the hUl with a gentle, continuous, gliding motion.
A double file of quivering stars leapt into view on the
left-hand side of the Basilica, and then followed the monu-
mental gradient way, whose curve it gradually described. At
that distance you were stiU unable to see the pilgrims them-
selves, and you beheld simply those well-disciplined travelling
lights tracing geometrical Imes amidst the darkness. Under the
deep blue heavens, even the buildings at first remained vague,
forming but blacker patches against the sky. Little by little,
however, as the number of candles increased, the principal
architectural lines — the tapering spire of the Basilica, the
Cyclopean arches of the gradient ways, the heavy, squat
f a9ade of the Eosary — became more distinctly visible. And
with that ceaseless torrent of bright sparks, flowing slowly
downward with the stubborn persistence of a stream which
has overflowed its banks and can be stopped by nothing,
there came as it were an aurora, a grovnng, invading mass of
Ught, which would at last spread its glory over the whole
horizon.
' Look, look, Pierre ! ' cried Marie, in an access of
childish joy. ' There is no end to them ; fresh ones are ever
shining out.'
Indeed, the sudden appearances of the little lights continued
with mechanical regularity, as though some inexhaustible
celestial source were pouring forth aU those solar specks. The
head of the procession had just reached the gardens, near the
oroivned statue of the Virgin, so that as yet the double file of
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 249
flames merely outlined the curves of the Eosary and the
broad inclined way. However, the approach of the multitude
was foretokened by the perturbation of the atmosphere, by the
gusts of human breath coming from afar ; and particularly
did the voices swell, the canticle of Bernadette surging with
the clamour of a rising tide, through which, with rhythmical
persistence, the refrain of ' Ave, ave, ave Maria ! ' rolled ever
in a louder key.
' Ah, that refrain ! ' muttered Pierre ; ' it penetrates one's
very skin. It seems to me as though my whole body were at
last singing it.'
Again did Marie give vent to that childish laugh of hers.
'It is true,' said she; 'it follows me about everywhere. I
heard it the other night whilst I was asleep. And now it is
again taking possession of me, rocking me, wafting me above
the ground.' Then she broke off to say : ' Here they come,
just- across the lavra, in front of us.'
The procession had entered one of the long straight paths ;
and then, turhing round the lawn by way of the Breton's
Cross, it came back by a parallel path. It took more than
a quarter of an hour to execute this movement, during which
the double file of tapers resembled two long parallel streams
of fiame. That which ever excited one's admiration was the
ceaseless march of this serpent of fire, whose golden coils crept
so gently over the black earth, winding, stretching into the far
distance, without the immense body ever seeming to end.
There must have been some jostling and scrambling every
now and then, for some of the luminous lines shook and bent
as though they were about to break ; but order was soon re-
established, and then the slow, regular, gliding movement set
in afresh. There now seemed to be fewer stars in the
heavens ; it was as though a milky way had fallen from on
high, rolHng its ghttering dust of worlds, and transferring the
revolutions of the planets from the empyrean to earth. A
bluish light streamed aU around ; there was naught but heaven
left ; the buildings and trees assumed a visionary aspect in the
mysterious glow of those thousands of tapers, whose number
still -and ever increased.
A faint sigh of admiration came from Marie. She was at
a loss for words, and could only repeat : ' How beautiful it
is ? Mon Dieu 1 how beautiful it is ! Look, Pierre, is it not
beautiful ? '
However, since the procession had been going bj at so
250 LOURDES
ehort a distance from them it had ceased to be a rhythmic
march of stars which no human hand appeared to guide, for
amidst the stream of light they could distinguish the figures
of the pilgrims carrying the tapers, and at times even recog-
nise them as they passed. First they espied La Grivotte,
vho, exaggerating her cure, and repeating that she had never
felt in better health, had insisted upon taking part in the
cerranony despite the lateness of the hour; and she still
retained her excited demeanour, her dancing gait in the cool
night air, which often made her shiver. Then the Vignerons
a^eazed; the father at the head of the party, raising his
tapcx on Ug^ and followed by Madame Vigneron and Madame
C^iae, who dragged their weary legs ; whilst little Gustave,
quite worn out, kept on tapping the sanded path with his
GTotdi, his right haitd covered, meantime, with all the wax
that bad dripped npon it. Every sufierer who could walk was
there, among others Elise Bonqoet, who, with her bare red
faee, passed by like some apparition £ram among the damned.
Others -weie laog^iing ; SopMe Cionteau, thehttle girl who had
been miraculonely headed the previous year, was quite forget-
ting hen^ piajiiig with hra taper as though it were a
swttdi. Meads fallowed heads ^nthout a pause, heads of
wtHnen espedaltf, more oftrai with sordid, common features,
bat at tanes wearing an exalted expression, which you saw
for a second ere it wiished amidst the fantastic illumination.
And there was no end to that terrible march past ; fresh pil>
glims were ever appearing. Among them, Pierre and Marid
noticed yet another little black shadowy figure, ghding along
in a discreet, hmnble way ; it was Madame Maze, whom they
would not have recognised if she had not for a moment
raised her p^ face, dawa. which the tears were streaming.
' Look,' er^ained Pierre ; ' the first tapers in the proces-
sion are reat^ng the Place dn Bosaire, and I am sure that
half of the pi^rims are still in front of the Grotto.'
Marie had nused her eyes. Up yonder, on the left-hand
side of the Bafdlica, she could see other lights incessantly
appearing with that mechanical kind of movement which
seemed as though it would never cease. ' Ah ! ' she said, ' how
many, how many distressed souls there are ! For each of
those little flames is a suffering soul seeking deliverance, is it
not?'
Pierre had to lean over in order to hear her, for smce the
procession had been streaming by, so near to them, they had
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 251
been deafened by the sound of the endless canticle, the hymn
of Bernadette. The voices of the pilgrims rang out more
loudly than ever amidst the increasing vertigo ; the couplets
became j umbled together — each batch of processionists chanted
a different one •vrith the ecstatic voices of beings possessed,
who can no longer hear themselves. There was a huge
indistinct clamour, the distracted clamour of a multitude
intoxicated by its ardent faith. And meantime the refrain
of ' Ave, ave, aye Maria 1 ' was ever returning, rising, with its
frantic, importunate rhythm, above everything else.
All at once Pierre and Marie, to their great surprise, saw
M. de Guersaint before them again. • ' Ah I my chUdren,' he
said, ' I did not want to Imger too long up there, I cut through
the procession twice in order to get back to you. But what a
eight, what a sight it is ! It is certainly the first beautiful
thing that I have seen since I have been here 1 ' Thereupon
he began to describe the procession as he had beheld it from
the Calvary height. ' Imagine,' • said he, ' another heaven,
a heaven down below reflecting that above, a heaven
entirely filled by a single immense constellation. The swarm-
ing stars seem to be lost, to lie in dim far-away depths ; and
the trail of fire is in form Hke a monstrance — yes, a real
monstrance, the base of which is outlined by the inclined ways,
the stem by the two parallel paths, and the Host by the
round lawn which crowns them. It is a monstrance of burning
gold, shining out in the depths of the darkness with a perpetual
sparkle of moving stars. Nothing else seems to exist ; it is
gigantic, paramount. I really never saw anything so extra-
ordinary befote ! '
He was waving bis arms, beside himseU, overflowing with
the emotion of an artist.
' Father dear,' said Marie, tenderly, ' since you have come
back you ought to go to bed. It is nearly eleven o'clock, and
you know that you have to start at two in the morning.' Then,
to render him compliant, she added : ' I am so pleased that you
are going to make that excursion ! Only, come back early to-
morrow evening, because you'll see, you'U see — ' She stopped
short, not daring to express her conviction that she would be
cured.
' You are right ; I will go to. bed,' repUed M, de Guersaint,
quite calmed. ' Since Pierre will be with you I sha'n't feel
ftnxious.'
' But I don't wish Pierre to pass the night out here. He
252 LOURDES
will join you by-and-by after he has taken me to the Grotto. I
sha'n'thave any further need of anybody ; the first bearer who
passes can take me back to the Hospital to-morrow morning.'
Pierre had not interrupted her, and now he simply said :
' No, no, Marie, I shall stay. Like you, I shall spend the night
at the Grotto.' —-
She opened her mouth to insist andrexpress her displeasure.
But he had spoken those words so gently, and she had detected
in them such a dolorous thirst for happiness, that, stirred to
the depths of her soul, she stayed her tongue.
' Well, well, my children,' repUed her fcither, ' settle the
matter between you. I know that you are both very sensible.
And now good night, and don't be at all uneasy about me.'
He gave his daughter a long, loving Mss, pressed the young
priest's hands, and then went off, disappearing among the
serried ranks of the procession, which he once more had to
cross.
Then they remained alone in their dark, solitary nook
under the spreading trees, she still sitting up ih her box, and
he kneeling on the grass, with his elbow resting on one of the
wheels. And it was truly sweet to linger l£.ere while the
tapers continued marching past, and, after a turning movement,
assembled on the Place da Bosaire. What delighted Pierre
was that nothing of aU the daytime junketing remained. It
seemed as though a pudfying breeze had come down from the
mountains, sweeping away all the odour of strong meats, the
greedy Sunday delights, the scorchiag, pestilential, fair-field
dust which, at an earHer hour, had hovered above the town.
Overhead there was now only the vast sky, studded with pure
stars, and the freshness ef &e Gave was delicious, whilst the
-wandering breezes were laden with the perfumes of wild
flowers. The mysterious Infinite spread far around in the
sovereign peacefnlness of night, and nothing of materiaUty
remained save those little candle-flames which the young
priest's companion had compared to suffering souls seeking
deliverance. All was now exquisitely restful, instinct with
unlimited hope. Since Pierre had been there all the heart-
rending memories of the afternoon, of the voracious appetites,
the impudent simony, and the poisoning of the old town, had
graduaJly left him, sdlowing >iini to savour the divine refresh-
ment of that beautiful night, in which his whole being was
Bteeped as in some revivifymg water.
A feeling of infinite sweetness had likewise §pm@ ov«r
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 253
Marie, who murmured : • Ah 1 how happy Blanche would be
to see all these marvels.'
She was thinking of her sister, who had been left in Paris
amidst all the worries of her hard profession as a teacher
forced to run hither and thither giving lessons. And that
simple mention of her sister, of whom Marie had not "spoken
since her arrival at Lourdes, but whose figure now unexpec-
tedly arose in her mind's eye, sufficed to evoke a vision of all
the past.
Then, without exchanging a word, Marie and Pierre lived
their childhood's days afresh, playing together once more in
the neighbouring gardens parted by the quickset hedge. But
separation came on the day when he entered the seminary
and when she kissed him on the cheeks, vowing that she
would never forget him. Years went by, and they found them-
selves for ever parted : he a priest, she prostrated by illness,
no longer with any hope of ever being a woman. That was
their whole story — an ardent affection of which they/had
long been ignorant, then absolute severance, as though they
were dead, albeit they lived side by side. They again beheld
the sorry lodging whence they had started to come to Lourdes
after so much battling, so much discussion — his doubts and
her passionate faith, which last had conquered. And it seemed
to them truly deUghtful to find themselves once more quite
alone together, in that dark nook on that lovely night, when
there were as many stars upon earth as there were in heaven.
Marie had hitherto retained the soul of a child, a spotless
soul, as her father said, good and pure among the purest.
Stricken low in her thirteenth year, she had grown no older
in mind. Although she was now three-and-twenty, she was
still a child, a child of thirteen, who had retired within herself,
absorbed in the bitter catastrophe which had annihilated her.
You could tell this by the frigidity of her glance, by her absent
expression, by the haunted air she ever wore, unable as she
was to bestow a thought on anything but her calamity. And
never was woman's soul more pure and candid, arrested as it
had been in its development. She had had no other romance
in life save that tearful farewell to her friend, which for ten
long years had sufficed to fill her heart. During the endless
days which she had spent on her couch of wretchedness, she
had never gone beyond this dream — that if she had grown up
in health, he doubtless would not have become a priest in
order to live near her. She never read any novels. The pioua
254 LOURDES
works which she was allowed to peruse maintained her in tho
excitement of a superhuman love. Even the rumours of
everyday life died away at the door of the room where she
lived in seclusion ; and, in past years, when she had been
taken from one to the other end of France, from one inland
spa to another, she had passed through the crowds like a
somnambulist who neither sees nor hears anything, possessed,
as she was, by the idea of the calamity that had befallen her,
the bond which made her a sexless thing. Hence her purity
and childishness ; hence she was but an adorable daughter of
suffering, who, despite the growth of her sorry flesh, harboured
nothing in her heart save that distant awakening of passion,
the unconscious love of her thirteenth year.
Her hand sought Pierre's in the darkness, and when she
found it, coming to meet her own, she, for a long time, con-
tinued pressing it. Ah ! how sweet it was. Never before,
indeed, had they tasted such pure and pejfegij^ip being
together, far from the world, amidst ttfe sovereipftyschant-
ment of darkness and mystery. Around them nothing sub-
sisted, save the revolwig stars. The lulling hymns agre like
the very vertigo that bore them away. And .slj&'ifflew right
well that after spending a night of rapture at the Grotto,
she would, on the morrow, be cured. Of this she was, indeed,
absolutely convinced; she would prevail upon the Blessed
Virgin to listen to her ; she would soften her, as soon as she
should be alone, imploring her face to face. And she well
understood what Pierre had wished to say a short time pre-
viously, when expressing his desire to spend the whole night
outside the Grotto, like herself. Was it not that he intended
to make a supreme effort to believe, that he meant to fall upon
his knees like a little child, and beg the all-powerful Mother
to restore his lost faith ? Without need of any further ex-
change of words, their clasped hands repeated all those things.
They mutually promised that they would pray for each other,
and so absorbed in each other did they become that they forgot
themselves, with such an ardent desire for one another's cure
and happiness, that for a moment they attained to the depths
of the love which offers itself in sacrifice. It was divine en-
joyment.
' Ah I ' murmured Pierre, ' how beautiful ig this blue night,
this infinite darkness, which has swept away all the hideous-
ness of things and beings, this deep, fresh peacefulness, ia
wbich I myself should like to bury my doubts 1 '
THE NIGHT PROCESSION 255
His voice died away, and Marie, in her turn, said in a very
low voice : ' And the roses, the perfume of the roses ? Can't
you smell them, my friend ? Where can they be siaoe you
could not see them ? '
' Yes, yes, I smell them, but there are none,' he replied.
' I should certainly have seen them, for I hunted everywhere.'
' How can you say that there are no roses when they per-
fume the air around us, when we are steeped in their aroma ?
Why, there aye moments when the scent is so powerful that I
almost faint with delight in inhaling it 1 They must certainly
be here, iunumerable, under our very feet.'
' No, no,' said Pierre, * I swear to you I hunted everywhere,
and there are no roses. They must be invisible, or they may
be the very grass we tread and the spreading trees that are
around us ; their perfume may come from the soil itself, from
the torrent which flows along close by, from the woods and
the mountains that rise yonder.'
For a moment they remained silent. Then, in an under-
tone, she resumed : ' How sweet they smell, Pierre 1 And it
seems to me that even our clasped hands form a bouquet.'
' Yes, they smell delightfully sweet ; but it is from you,
Marie, that the perfume now ascends, as though the rosea
were budding from your hair.'
Then they ceased speaking. The procession was still
gliding along, and at the corner of the Basilica bright sparks
were still appearing, flashing suddenly from out of the ob-
scurity, as though spurting from some invisible source. The
vast trail of Httle flames, marching in double file, threw a
riband of light across the darkness. But the great sight was
now on the Place du Eosaire, where the head of the procession
still continuing its measured evolutions, was revolving and
revolving in a circle which ever grew smaller, with a stubborn
whirl which increased the dizziness of the weary pilgrims and
the violence of their chants. And soon the circle formed a
nucleus, the nucleus of a nebula, so to say, around which the
endless riband of fire began to coil itself. And the brasier
grew larger and larger — there was first a pool, then a lake of
light. The whole vast Place du Eosaire changed at last into
a burning ocean, rolling its little sparkling wavelets with the
dizzy motion of a whirlpool that never rested. A reflection
like that of davm whitened the Basilica ; while the rest of the
horizon faded into deep obscurity, amidst which you only saw
ft few stray tapers journeying alone, liko glow-worms seeking
2S6 LOVRDMS
their way With the help of their little lights. Howev6f, a
straggling rearguard of the procession must have climbed the
Calvary height, for up there, against the sky, some moving
stars could also be seen. Eventually the moment came when
the last tapers appeared down below, marched round the
lawns, flowed away, and were merged in the sea of flame.
Thirty thousand tapers were burning there, stiU and ever
revolving, quickening their sparkles under the vast calm
heavens where the pkinets had grown pale. A luminous glow
ascended in company with the straias of the canticle which
never ceased. And the roar of voices incessantly repeating
the refrain of ' Ave, ave, ave Maria 1 ' was like the very
crackUng of those hearts of fire which were burning away in
prayers in order that souls might be saved.
The candles had just been extinguished, one by one, and
the night was falling again, paramount, densely black and
extremely mild, when Pierre and Marie perceived that they
were still there, hand in hand, hidden away among the trees.
In the dim streets of Lourdes, far off, there were now only
some stray, lost pilgrims inquiring their way, in order that
they might get to bed. Through the darkness there swept
a rustUng sound — the rustUng of those who prowl and fall
asleep when days of festivity draw to a close. But the young
priest and the girl lingered in their nook forgetfully, never
Btirring, but tasting delicious happiness amidst the perfume of
the invisible roses.
IV
THE VIGin
When Pierre dragged Marie in her box to the front of the
Grotto, and placed her as near as possible to the railing, it was
past midnight, and about a hundred persons were still there,
some seated on the benches, but the greater number kneeling
as though prostrated in prayer. The Grotto shone from afar,
with its multitude of lighted tapers, similar to the illumination
round a coffin, though aU that you could distinguish was a
star-like blaze, from the midst of which, with visionary white-
ness, emerged the statue of the Virgin in its niche. The
banging foliage assumed an emerald sheen, the hundreds o{
THE VIGIL 2S7
crutches covering the vault resembled an inextricable net-
work of dead wood on the point of reflowering. And the
darkness was rendered more dense by so great a brightness,
the surroundings became lost in a deep shadow in which
nothing, neither walls nor trees, remained ; whilst all alone
ascended the angry and continuous murmur of the Gave,
rolling along beneath the gloomy, boundless sky, now heavy
with a gathering storm.
' Are you comfortable, Marie ? ' gently inquired Pierre.
• Don't you feel chilly ? '
She had just shivered. But it was only at a breath from
the other world, which had seemed to her to come from the
Grotto.
' No, no, I am so comfortable ! Only place the shawl oyer
my knees. And — thank you, Pierre — don't be anxious about
me. I no longer require anyone now that I am with her.'
Her voice died away, she was already falling iato an ecstasy,
her hands clasped, her eyes raised towards the white statue, in
a beatific transfiguration of the whole of her poor suffering
face.
Yet Pierre remained a few minutes longer beside her. He
would have liked to wrap her in the shawl, for he perceived
the trembling of her little wasted hands. But he feared to
annoy her, so confined himself to tucking her in Uke a child ;
whilst she, slightly raised, with her elbows on the edges of her
box, and her eyes fixed on the Grotto, no longer beheld him.
A bench stood near, and he had just seated himself upon
it, intending to collect his thoughts, when his glance fell upon
a woman kneeling in the gloom. Dressed in black, she was
so shm, so discreet, so unobtrusive, so wrapt in darkness,
that at first he had not noticed her. After a while, however,
he recognised her as Madame Maze. The thought of the
letter which she had received during the day then recurred to
him. And the sight of her fiUed him with pity ; he could feel
for the forlomness of this solitary woman, who had no physical
sore to heal, but only implored the Blessed Virgin to relieve
her heart-pain by converting her inconstant husband. The
letter had no doubt been some harsh reply, for, with bowed
head, she seemed almost annihilated, filled with the humiUty
of some poor beaten creatur&. It was only at night-time that
she readily forgot herself there, happy at disappearing, at
being able to weep, suffer martyrdom, and implore the return of
the lost caresses, for hours together, without any one suspeot-
B
258 LOURDES
ing her grievous secret. Her lips did not even move ; it was
her wounded heart which prayed, yhich desperately begged for
its share of love and happiness. ;
Ah ! that inextinguishable thirst for happiness which
brought them all there, wounded, either in body or in spirit ;
Pierre also felt it parching his throat, in an ardent desire to
be quenched. He longed to cast himself upon his linees, to
beg the divine aid with the same humble faith as that
woman. But his limbs were as though tied ; he could not find
the words he wanted, and it was a relief when he at last felt
someone touch him on the arm. ' Come with me. Monsieur
l'Abb6, if you do not know the Grotto,' said a voice. ' I will
find you a place. It is so pleasant there at this time ! '
He raised his head, and recognised Baron Suire, the direc-
tor of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. This bene-
volent and simple man-no doubt felt some affection for him.
He therefore accepted his offer, and followed him into the
Grotto, which was quite empty. The Baron had a key, with
which he locked the railing behind them.
* You see. Monsieur 1' Abb6,' said he, ' this is the time when
one can really be comfortable here. For my part, whenever
I come to spend a few days at Lourdes, I seldom retire to rest
before daybreak, as I have fallen into the habit of finishing
my night here. The place is deserted, one is quite alone, and
is it not pleasant ? How well one feels oneself to be in the
abode of the Blessed Virgin ! '
He smiled with a kindly air, doing the honours of the
Grotto like an old frequenter of the place, somewhat enfeebled
by age, but full of genuine affection for this dehghtful nook.
Moreover, in spite of his great piety, he was in no way ill at
ease there, but talked on and explained matters mth the
familiarity of a man who felt himself to be the friend
of Heaven. AV
' Ah 1 you ard "looking at the tapers,' he said. ' There are
about two hundred of them which burn together night and
day ; and they end by making the place warm. It is even
warm here in winter.'
Indeed, Pierre was beginning to feel incommoded by the
warm odour of the wax. Dazzled by the brilliant light into
which he was penetrating, he gazed at the large central
Eyramidal holder, all bristling vrith little tapers, and resem-
ling a luminous clipped yew glistening with stars. In the
background, a straight holder, on a level with the grouadi
THE VIGIL . 459
upheld the large tapers, -which, like the pipes of an organ,
formed a row of uneven height, some of them being as large
as a man's thigh. And yet other holders, resembling massive
candelabra, stood here and there on the jutting parts of the
rock. The vault of the Grotto sank towards the left, where
the stone seemed baked and blackened by the eternal flames
which had been heating it for years. And the wax was per-
petually dripping like fine snow; the trays of the holders
were smothered with it, whitened by its ever-thickening dust.
In fact, it coated the whole rock, which had become quite
greasy to the touch ; and to such a degree did it cover the
ground that accidents had occurred, and it had been necessary
to spread some mats about to prevent persons from slipping.
'You see those large ones there,' obligingly continued
Baron Suire. ' They are the most expensive, and cost sixty
francs apiece ; they will continue burning for a month. The
smallest ones, which cost but five sous each, only last three
hours. Oh ! we don't husband them ; we never run short.
Look here ! Here are two more hampers full, which there
has not yet been time to remove to the storehouse.'
Then he pointed to the furniture, which comprised a har-
monium covered with a cloth, a substantial dresser with
several large drawers in which the sacred vestments were
kept, some benches and chairs reserved for the privileged few
who were admitted during the ceremonies, and finally a very
handsome movable altar, which was adorned with engraved
silver plates, the gift of a great lady, and — for fear of injury
from dampness — was only brought out on the occasions of
remunerative pilgrimages.
Pierre was disturbed by all this well-meant chatter. His
rdigious emotion lost some of its charm. In spite of his lack
of faith, he had, on entering, experienced a feeling of agitation,
a heaving of the soul, as though the Mystery were about to
be revealed to him. It was at the same time both an
anxious and a delicious feeling. And he beheld things which
deeply stirred him : bunches of flowers, lying in a heap at the
Virgin's feet, with the votive offerings of children — httle faded
shoes, a tiny iron corselet, and a doll-like crutch which almost
seemed to be a toy. Beneath the natural ogival cavity
■in which the apparition had appeared, at the spot where the
pilgrims rubbed the chaplets and medals they wished to con-
secrate, the rock was quite worn away and pohshed. Mil-
lions of ardent lips had pressed kisses qq the wall with such
12
260 LOURDES
intensity of love that the stone was as though Calcined,
streaked with black veins, shining like marble.
However, he stopped short at last opposite a cavity in
which lay a considerable pile of letters and papers of every
description.
' Ah I I was forgetting,' hastily resumed Baron Suire ;
' this is the most interesting part of it. These are the letters
which the faithful throw into the Grotto through the railing
every day. We gather them up and place them there ; and
in the winter I amuse myself by glancing through them.
You see, we cannot burn them without opening them, for
they often contain money — ^francs, half-francs, and especially
postage stamps.'
He stirred up the letters, and selecting a few at random,
showed the addresses, and opened them to read. Nearly all
of them were letters from iUiterate persons, with the super-
scription, ' To Our Lady of Lourdes,' scrawled on the en-
velopes in big, irregular handwriting. Many of them con-
tained requests or thanks, incorrectly worded and wondrously
spelt ; and nothing was more affecting than the nature of
some of the petitions: a little brother to be saved, a law-
suit to be gained, a lover to be preserved, a marriage to be
effected. Other letters, however, were angry ones, -taking the
Blessed Virgin to task for not having had the politeness to
acknowledge a former communication by granting the writer's
prayers. Then there were still others, written in a finer hand,
with carefully worded phrases containing confessions and
fervent entreaties ; and these were from women who confided
to the Queen of Heaven things which they dared not even say
to a priest in the shadow of the confessional. Finally, one
envelope, selected at random, merely contained a photograph ;
a young girl had sent her portrait to Our Lady of Lonrdea,
with this dedication : ' To my good Mother.' In short, they
every day received the correspondence of a most powerful
Queen, to whom both prayers and secrets were addressed, and
who was expected to reply with favours and kindnesses of
every kind. The franc and half-franc pieces were simple
tokens of love to propitiate her ; while, as for the postage
stamps, these could only be sent for convenience' sake, in lieu
of coined money ; unless, indeed, they were sent guilelessly, as in
the case of a peasant woman who had added a postscript to her
letter to say that she enclosed a stamp for the reply.
' I can assure you,' concluded the Baron, ' that there axe
THE VIGIL 261
some very nice ones among them, mueh less foolish than you
might imagine. During a period of three years I constantly
found some very interesting letters from a lady who did
nothing without relating it to the Blessed Virgin. She was
a married woman, and entertained a most dangerous passion
for a friend of her husband's. Well, Monsieur I'Abbl, she
overcame it ; the Blessed Virgin answered her by sending her
an armour for her chastity, an all-divine power to resist the
promptings of her heart.' Then he broke off to say : ' But
come and seat yourself here. Monsieur I'Abbd. You will see
how. comfortable you will be.'
Pierre went and placed himself beside him on a bench on
the left hand, at the spot where the rock hung lower. This
was a dehciously reposeful corner, and neither the one nor
the other spoke ; a profound silence had ensued, when, behind
him, Pierre heard an indistinct murmur, a light crystaUine
voice, which seemed to come from the Invisible. He gave a
start, which Baron Suire understood.
' That is the spring which you hear,' said he ; ' it is there,
underground, below this grating. Would you like to see
it?"
And, without waiting for Pierre's reply, he at once bent
down to open one of the iron plates protecting the spring,
mentioning that it was thus closed up in order to prevent
freethinkers from throwing poison into it. For a moment
this extraordinary idea quite amazed the priest ; but he ended
by attributing it entirely to the Baron, who was, indeed, very
childish. The latter, meantime, was vainly struggling with
the padlock, which opened by a combination of letters and
refused to yield to his endeavours. ' It is singular,' he mut-
tered ; ' the word is 'Borne, and I am positive that it hasn't been
changed. The damp destroys everything. Every two years
or so we are obliged to replace those crutches up there, other-
wise they would aU rot away. Be good enough to bring me a
taper.'
By the light of the candle which Pierre then took from
one of the holders, he at last succeeded in unfastening the
brass padlock, which was covered with vert-de-gris. Then,
the plate having been raised, the spring appeared to view.
Upon a bed of muddy gravel, in a fissure of the rock, there
was a limpid stream, quite tranquil, but seemingly spreading
over a rather large surface. The Baron explained that it had
beeo necessary to conduct it to the fouutaJus through pipea
262 LOURDES
coated with cement ; and he even admitted that, behind the
piseinas, a large cistern had been dug in which the water
\7as collected during the night, as otherwise the small out-
put of the source would not suffice for the daily require-
ments.
' Will you taste it ? ' he suddenly asked. ' It is much
better here, fresh from the earth.'
Pierre did not answer ; he was gazing at that tranqml,
innocent water, which assumed a moire-like golden sheen in
the dancing light of the taper. The falling drops of wax
now and again ruffled its surface. And, as he gazed at it, the
young priest pondered upon all the mystery it brought with
it from the distant mountain slopes.
' Come, drink some 1 ' said the Baron, who had already
dipped and fiUed a glass which was kept there handy. The
priest had no choice but to empty it ; it was good pure water,
fresh and transparent, Hke that which flows from all the lofty
uplands of the Pyrenees.
After refastening the padlock, they both returned to the
bench. Now and again Pierre could still hear the spring
flowing behind him, with a music resembUng the gentle
warble of an unseen bird. But the Baron was again talking,
giving him the history of the Grotto at all times and seasons,
in a pathetic babble, replete with puerile details.
The summer was the roughest season, for then came the
great itinerant pilgrimage crowds, with the uproarious fervour
of thousands 6f eager beings, all praying and vociferating
together. But with the autumn came the rain, those diluvial
rains which beat against the Grotto entrance for days
together ; and with them arrived the pilgrims from remote
countries, small, silent, and ecstatic bands of Indians, Malays,
and even Chinese, who fell upon their knees in the mud at
a sign from the missionaries accompanying them. Of all the
old provinces of Prance, it was Brittany that sent the most
devout pilgrims, whole parishes arriving together, the men as
numerous as the women, and all displaying a pious deport-
ment, a simple and unostentatious faith, such as might edify
the world. Then came the winter, December with its terrible
cold, its dense snow-drifts blocking the momitain ways. But
even then families put up at the hotels, and, despite every-
thing, faithful worshippers — aU those who, fleeing the noise of
the world, wished to speak to the Virgin in the tender
latimaoy of solitude — still came every morning to the Grotto.
THE VIGIL 263
Among them were some whom no one knew, who appeared
directly they felt certain they would be alone there to kneel
and love like jealous lovers ; and who departed, frightened
away by the first suspicion of a crowd. And how warm and
pleasant the place was throughout the foul winter weather 1
In spite of rain and wind and snow, the Grotto still continued
flaring. Even during nights of howling tempest, when not
a soul was there, it lighted up the empty darkness, blazing
like a brazier of love that nothing could extinguish. The
Baron related that, at the time of the heavy snowfall of the
previous winter, he had frequently spent whole afternoons
there, on the bench were they were then seated. A gentle
warmth prevailed there, although the spot faced the north and
was never reached by a ray of sunshine. No doubt the circum-
stance of the burning tapers continuously heating the rock
explained this generous warmth ; but might one not also
believe in some charming kindness on the part of the Virgin,
who endowed the spot with perpetual springtide ? And the
little birds were well aware of it ; when the snow on the
ground froze their feet, all the finches of the neighbourhood
sought shelter there,. fluttering about in the ivy around the
holy statue. At length came the awakening of the real
spring : the Gave, swollen with melted snow, and rolhng on
with a voice of thunder : the trees, under the action of their
sap, arraying themselves in a mantle of greenery, whilst the
crowds, once more returning, noisily invaded the sparkling
Grotto, whence they drove the little birds of heaven.
' Yes, yes,' repeated Baron Suire, in a declining voice, ' I
spent some most delightful winter days here all alone. I saw
no one but a woman, who leant against the railing to avoid
kneeling in the snow. She was quite young, twenty-five per-
haps, and very pretty — dark, with magnificent blue eyes. She
never spoke, and did not even seem to ,pray, but remained
there for hours together, looking intensely sad. I do not know
who she was, nor have I ever seen her since.'
He ceased speaking ; and when, a couple of minutes later,
Pierre, surprised at his sUence, looked at him, he perceived
that he had fallen asleep. With his hands clasped upon his
belly, his chin resting on his chest, he slept as peacefully as a
child, a smile hovering the while about his mouth. Doubtless,
when he said that he spent the night there, he meant that he
came thither to indulge in the early nap of a happy old man,
whose dreams are of the angels. And now Pierre tasted all
264 LOURDES:
the charms of the solitude. It was indeed true that a feeling
of peacefulness and comfort permeated the soul in this rocky
nook. It was occasioned by the somewhat stifling fumes of
the burning wax, by the transplendent ecstasy into which you
sank amidst the glare of the tapers. The young priest could
no longer distinctly see the crutches on the roof, the votive
offerings hanging from the sides, the altar of engraved silver,
and the harmonium in its wrapper, for a slow intoxication
seemed to be stealing over him, a gradual prostration of his
whole being. And he particularly experienced the divine sen-
sation of having left the living world, of having attained to
the far realms of the marvellous and the superhuman, as
though that simple iron railing yonder had become the very
barrier of the infinite.
However, a slight noise on his left again disturbed him.
It was the spring flowing, ever flowing on, with its bird-like
warble. Ah 1 how he would have liked to fall upon his knees
and beheve in the miracle, to acquire a certain conviction that
that divine water had gushed from the rock solely for the
healing of suffering humanity. Had he not come there to
prostrate himself and implore the Yirgia to restore the faith
of his childhood ? Why, then, did he not pray, why did he
not beseech her to bring him back to grace ? His feeling of
suffocation increased, the burning tapers dazzled Viim almost
to the point of giddiness. And, aU at once, the recollection
came to him that for two days past, amidst the great freedom
which priests enjoyed at Lourdes, he had neglected to say his
mass. He was in a state of sin, and perhaps it was the weight
of this transgression which was oppressing his heart. He
suffered so much that he was at last compiled to rise &om
his seat and walk away. He gently closed the gate behind
him, leaving Baron Suire still asleep on the bench. Marie, he
found, had not stirred, but was stiU raised on her elbows, with
her ecstatic eyes uplifted towards the figure of the Virgin.
,' How are you, Marie ? ' asked Pierre. ' Don't you feel
cold ? '
She did not reply. He felt her hands, and found them
warm and soft, albeit slightly trembling. ' It is not the cold
which makes you tremble, is it, Marie ? ' he asked.
In a voice as gentle as a zephyr she repUed : ' Ho, no i
let me be ; I am so happy I I shall see her, I feel it. Ah t
what joy I '
So, after slightly pulling up h@r shawl, he went forth into
THE VIGIL 265
the night, a prey to indescribable agitation. Beyond the
bright glow of the Grotto was a night as black as ink, a re-
gion of darkness, into which he plunged at random. Then,
as his eyes became accustomed to this gloom, he found him-
self near the Gave, and skirted it, following a path shaded by
tall trees, where he again came upon a refreshing obscurity.
This shade and coolness, both so soothing, now brought him
reUef. And his only surprise was that hfe had not fallen on
his knees in the Grotto, and prayed, even as Marie was pray-
ing, with all the power of his soul. What could be the
obstacle within him ? Whence came the irresistible revolt
which prevented him from surrendering himself to faith even
when his overtaxed, tortured being longed to yield ? He un-
derstood well enough that it was his reason alone which pro-
tested, and the time had come when he would gladly have
MUed that voracious reason, which was devouring his hfe and %
preventing him from enjoying the happiness allowed to the '
ignorant and the simple. Perhaps, had he beheld a miracle,
he might have acquired enough strength of will to believe.
For instance, would he not have bowed himself down, van-
quished at last, if Marie had suddenly risen up and walked
before him. The scene which he conjured up of Marie
saved, Marie cured, affected him so deeply that he stopped
short, his trembling arms uplifted towards the star-spangled
vault of heaven. What a lovely night it was t — so deep
and mysterious, so airy and fragrant ; and what joy rained
down at the hope that eternal health might be restored,
that eternal love might ever revive, even as spring returns I
Then he continued his walk, following the path to the
end. But his doubts were again coming back to him ; when
you need a miracle to gain behef, it means that you are
incapable of beHeving. There is no need for the Almighty
to prove His existence. Pierre also felt uneasy at the thought
that, so long as he had not discharged his priestly duties by
saying his mass, his prayers would not be answered. Why
did he not go at once to the church of the Eosary, whose
altars, &om midnight till noon, are placed at the disposal of
the priests who come from a distance ? Thus thinking, he
descended by another path, again finding himself beneath the
trees, near the leafy spot whence he and Marie had watched
the march past of the procession of tapers. Not a light now
remained, there was but a boundless expanse of gloom.
Here Pierre experienced a fresh attack of f aintness, : and
266 LOURDES
as though jn) gain time, he turned mechanically into the
pilgrims' shelter-house. Its door had remained wide open ;
still this failed to sufficiently ventilate the spacious hall,
which was now crowded with people. On the very threshold
Pierre felt oppressed by the stifling heat emanating from the
multitude of bodies, the dense pestilential '.smell t>f human
breath and perspiration. The smoking lanterns gave out so
bad a light that he had to pick his way with extreme care in
order to avoid treading upon outstretched limbs ; for the
overcrowding was extraordinary, and many persons, unable
to find room on the benches, had stretched themselves on the
pavement, on the damp stone slabs fouled by all the refuse of
the day. And on all sides indescribable promiscuousness
prevailed : prostrated by overpowering weariness, men, women,
and priests were lying there pell-mell, at random, open-
mouthed and utterly exhausted. A large number were snor-
ing, seated on the slabs, with their backs resting against the
walls and their heads drooping on their chests. Others had
slipped down, with limbs intermingled, and one yoxmg girl
lay prostrate across an old country priest, who in his calm
childlike slumber was smiling at the angels. It was like
a cattle-shed sheltering poor wanderers of the roads, all
who were homeless on that beautiful holiday night, and
who had dropped in there and fallen fraternally asleep.
Still, there were some who found no repose in their feverish
excitement, but turned and twisted, or rose up to finish eating
the food which remained in their baskets. Others could be
seen lying perfectly motionless, their eyes wide open and
fixed upon the gloom. The cries of dreamers, the wailing of
sufferers, arose amidst general snoring. And pity came to
the heart, a pity full of anguish, at sight of tMs fiock of
wretched beings lying there in heaps in loathsome rags,
whilst their poor spotless souls no doubt were far away in
the blue realm of some mystical dream.
Pierre was on the point of withdrawing, feeling sick at
heart, when a low continuous moan attracted his attention.
He looked, and recognised Madame Yincent, on the same spot
and in the same position as before, still nursing httle Bose
upon her lap. ' Ah 1 Monsieur TAbbS,' the poor woman
murmured, ' you hear her ; she woke up nearly an hour ago,
and has been sobbing ever since. Yet I assure you I have
not moved even a finger, I felt so happy at seeing her sleep.'
The priest bent down, examining the little one, who had
THE VIGIL 267
not even the strengtli to raise her eyelids. A plaintive cry no
Btronger than a breath was coming from her lips ; and she
was so white that he shuddered, for he felt that death was
hovering near.
' Dear me I what shall I do ? ' continued the poor mother,
utterly worn out. ' This cannot last ; I can no longer bear to
hear her cry. iAnd if you knew all that I have been saying to
her : " My jewel, my treasure, my angel, I beseech you cry
no more. Be good ; the Blessed Virgin will cure you 1 " And
yet she still cries on.'
With these words, the poor creature burst out sobbing,
her big tears falling on the face of the child, whose rattle still
continued. ' Had it been daylight,' she resumed, ' I would
long ago have left this hall, the more especially as she dis-
turbs the others. There is an old lady yonder who has
already complained. But I fear it may be chilly outside ;
and besides, where could I go in the middle of the night ?
Ah ! Blessed Virgia, Blessed Virgin, take pity upon us 1 '
Overcome by emotion, Pierre kissed the child's fair head,
and then hastened away to avoid bursting into tears hke the
sorrowing mother. And he went straight to the Eosary, as
though he were determined to conquer death.
He had abeady beheld the Eosary in broad daylight, and
had been displeased by the aspect of this church, which the
architect, fettered by the rock-bound site, had been obhged to
make circular and low, so that it seemed crushed beneath its
great cupola, which square pillars supported. The worst was
that,, despite its archaic Byzantine style, it altogether lacked
any religious appearance, and suggested neither mystery nor
meditation. Indeed, with the glaring Ught admitted by the
cupola and the broad glazed doors it w;as more like some brand
new corurmarket. And then, too, it was not yet completed :
the decorations were lacking, the bare walls against which the
altars stood had no other embellishment than some artificial
roses of coloured paper and a few insignificant votive offer-
ings ; and this bareness heightened the resemblance to some
vast public hall. Moreover, in time of rain the paved floor
became as muddy as that of a general waiting-room at a
railway station; The high altar was a temporary structure of
painted wood. Innumerable rows of benches filled the central
rotunda, benches free to the pubhc, on which people could
come and rest at all hours, for night and day ahke the Eosary
remained open to the swarming pilgrims. Like the shelter-
268 LOURDES
house, it was a cowshed in which the Almighty received the
poor ones of the earth.
On entering, Pierre felt himself to be in some common
hall trod by the footsteps of an ever-changing crowd. But
the brilliant sunlight no longer streamed on the pallid walls,
the tapers burning at every altar simply gleamed like stars
amidst the uncertain gloom which filled the building. A
solemn high mass had been celebrated at midnight with
extraordinary pomp, amidst aU the splendour of candles,
chants, golden vestments, and swinging, steaming censers ;
but of aU this glorious display there now remained only the
regulation number of tapers necessary for the celebration of
the masses at each of the fifteen altarsranged around the edifice.
These masses began at midnight and did not cease till noon.
Nearly four hunted were said during those twelve hours at
the Eosary alone. Taking the whole of Lourdes, where there
were altogether some fifty altars, more than two thousand
masses were celebrated daily. And so great was the abun-
dance of priests, that many had extreme difficulty in fulfilling
their duties, having to wait for hours together before they
could find an altar unoccupied. What particularly struck
Pierre that evening, was the sight of aU the altars besieged by
rows of priests patiently awaiting their turn in the A\m light
at the foot of the steps; whilst the officiating minister
galloped through the Latin phrases, hastily pimctuating them
with the prescribed signs of the cross. And the weariness of
all the waiting ones was so great, that most of them were
seated on the flagstones, some even dozing on the altar steps
in heaps, quite overpowered, relying on the beadle to come
and rouse them.
For a moment Pierre walked about undecided. Was he •
going to wait like the others ? However, the scene determined
him against doing so. At every altar, at every mass, a crowd
of pilgrims was gathered, communicating in aU haste with a
sort of voracious fervour. Each pyx was filled and emptied
incessantly, the priests' hands grew tired in thus distributing
the bread of Hf e ; and Pierre's surprise increased at the sight.
Never before had he beheld a comer of this earth so watered
by the divine blood, whence faith took wing in such a flight of
souls. It was Uke a return to the heroic days of the Church,
when all nations prostrated themselves beneath the same
blast of credulity in their terrified ignorance which led them
to place their hope of eternal happiness ia. an Almighty God. He
fHE VIGIL 269
could fancy himself carried back some eight or nine centuries,
to the time of great pubUo piety, when people believed in the
approaching end of the world ; and this he could fancy the
more readily as the crowd of simple folk, the whole host that
had attended high mass, was still seated on the benches, as
much at ease in God's house as at home. Many had no place
of refuge. Was not the church their home, the asylum
where consolation awaited them both by day and by night ?
Those who knew not where to sleep, who had not found room
even at the shelter place, came to the Eosary, where some-
times they succeeded in finding a vacant seat on a bench, at
others sufficient space to lie down on the flagstones. And
others who had beds awaiting them lingered there for the joy
of passing a whole night in that divine abode, so full of beauti-
ful dreams. Until daylight the concourse and promiscuity
were extraordinary ; every row of benches was occupied, sleep-
ing persons were scattered in every corner and behind every
pillar ; men, women, children were leaning against each other,
their heads on one another's shoulders, their breath mingling
in calm unconsciousness. It was the break-up of a religious
gathering overwhelmed by sleep, a church transformed into a"
chance hospital, its door wide open to the lovely August night,
giving access to all who were wandering in the darlmess, the
good and the bad, the weary and the lost. And all over the
place, from each of the fifteen altars, the bells announcing the
elevation of the Host incessantly sounded, whilst from among
the mob of sleepers bands of believers now and again arose,
went and received the sacrament, and then returned to mingle
once more with the nameless, shepherdless fiock which the
semi-obscurity enveloped like a veil.
With an air of restless indecision, Pierre was still wander-
ing through the shadowy groups, when an old priest, seated
on the step of an altar, beckoned to him. For two hours he
had been waiting there, and now that his turn was at length
arriving he felt so faint that he feared he might not have
strength to say the whole of his mass, and preferred, -therefore,
to surrender his place to another. No doubt the sight of
Pierre, wandering so distressfully in the gloom, had moved
him. He pointed the vestry out t6 him, waited until he re-
turned with chasuble and chaUoe, and then went off and fell
into a sound sleep on one of the neighbouring benches.
Pierre thereupon said his mass in the same way as he said it
at Paris, like a worthy man fulfilling a professional duty. He
270 LOVRDES
outwardly mainiained an air of sincere faith. But, contrary
to what he had expected fcom the two feverish days through
which he had just gone, from the extraordinary and agitating
surroundings amidst which he had spent the last few hours,
nothing moved him nor touched his heart. He had hoped
that a great commotion would overpower him at th6 moment
of the communion, when the divine mystery is accomphshed ;
that he would find hiinself m view of Paradise, steeped in grace,
in the very presence of the Almighty; but there was no
manifestation, his cffilled heart did not even throb, he went
on to the end pronouncing the usual words, ma,ting the-regu-
lation gestures, with the mechanical accuracy of the profession.
In . spite of his effort to be fervent, one single idea kept
obstinately returning to his mind — that the" vestry was far too
small, since such an enormous number of masses had to be
said. How could the sacristans manage to distribute the
holy vestments and the cloths ? It puzzled him, and engaged
his thoughts with absurd persistency.
At length, to his surprise, he once more found himself
outside. Again he wandered through the night, a night which
'seemed to him utterly void, darker and stiller than before.
The town was lifeless, not a light was gleaming. There only
remained the growl of the Gave, which his accustomed ears
no longer heard. And suddenly, similar to a miraculous
apparition, the Grotto blazed before him, illumining the dark-
ness with its everlasting brasier, which buriit with a flame of
inextinguishable love. He had returned thither unconsciously,
attracted no doubt by thoughts of Marie. Three o'clock was
about to strike, the benches before the Grotto were emptying,
and only some twenty persons remained there, dark, indistinct
forms, kneeling in slumberous ecstasy, wrapped in divine
torpor. It seemed as though the night in progressing had
increased the gloom, and imparted a remote visionary aspect
to the Grotto. All faded away amidst delicious lassitude,
sleep reigned supreme over the dim, far-spreading country side ;
whilst the voice of the invisible waters seemed to be merely the
breathing of this pure slumber, upon which the Blessed Virgin,
aU white with her aureola of tapers, was smiling. And among
the few unconscious women was Madame Maze, still kneeling,
with clasped hands and bowed head, but so indistinct that she
seemed to have melted away amidst her ardent prayer.
Pierre, however, had immediately gone up to Marie. Ha
■waa shivering, and fancied that she most be chilled by tho
THE VIGIL 37t
early moMung air. • I beseech you, Marie, cover yourself up,'
said he. 'Do you want to suffer still more?' And
thereupon he drew up the shawl which had slipped off h6r,
and endeavoured to fasten it about her neck. ' You are cold,
Marie,' he added ; ' your hands are like ice.'
She did not answer, she was still in the same attitude as
when he had left her a couple of hours previously. With her
elbows resting on the edges of her box, she kept herself raised,
her soul still lifted tov.'ards the Blessed Virgin and her face
transfigured, beaming with a celestial joy. Her lips moved,
though no sound came from them. Perhapis she was still carry-
ing on some mysterious conversation in the world of enchant-
ments, dreaming wide awake, as she had been doing ever since
he had placed her there. He spoke to her again, but still she
answered not. At last, however, of her own accord, she mur-
mured in a far-away voice : ' Oh ! I am so happy, Pierre ! I
have seen her ; I prayed to her for you, and she smiled at me,
slightly nodding her head to let me know that she heard me
and would grant my prayers. And though she did not speak
to me, Pierre, I understood what she wished me to know.
'Tis to-day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, when the Blessed
Sacrament passes by, that I shall be cured ! '
He listened to her in deep agitation. Had she been sleep-
ing with her eyes wide open ? Was it in a dream that she had
seen the marble figure of the Blessed Virgin bend its head and
smile ? A great tremor passed through him at the thought
that this pure child had prayed for him. And he walked up
to the railing, and dropped upon his knees, stammering: ' O
Marie ! 0 Marie ! ' without knowing whether this heart-cry
were intended for the Virgin or for the beloved friend of his
childhood. And he remained there, utterly overwhelmed,
waiting for grace to come to him.
Endless minutes went by. This was indeed the superhuman
effort, the waiting for the miracle which he had come to seek
for himself, the sudden revelation, the thunderclap which was
to sweep away his unbelief and restore him, rejuvenated and
triumphant, to the faith of the simple-minded. He sur-
rendered himself, he wished that some mighty power might
ravage his being and transform it. Bnt, even as before whilst
saying his mass, he heard naught within him but an endless
silence, felt nothing but a boundless vacuum. There was
no divine intervention, his despairing heart almost seemed to
cease beating. And although he strove to pray, to fix hia
2;a LOVRDES
mind wholly upon that powerful Virgin, so compassionate
to poor humanity, his thoughts none the less wandered, won
back by the outside world, and again turning to puerile trifles.
Within the Grotto, on the other side of the railing, he had
once more caught sight of Baron Suire, still asleep, stiU con-
tinuing his pleasant nap with his hands clasped in front of him.
Other things also attracted his attention : the flowers deposited
at the feet of the Virgin, the letters cast there as though into
a heavenly letter-box, the deHcate lace-Mke work of wax which
remained erect round the flames of the larger tapers, looking
like some rich silver ornamentation. Then, without any
apparent reason, his thoughts flew away to the days of his
childhood, and his brother Guillaume's face rose before him
with extreme distinctness. He had not seen him since their
mother's death. He merely knew that he led a very secluded
life, occupying himself with scientific matters, in a httle house
in which he had buried himself with a mistress and two big
dogs ; and he would have known nothing more about him, but
for having recently read his name in a newspaper in connection
with some revolutionary attempt. It was stated that he was
passionately devoting lumself to the study of explosives, and
in constant intercourse with the leaders of the most advanced
parties. Why, however, should Guillaume appear to him in
this wise, in this ecstatic spot, amidst the mystical light of the
tapers, appear to him, moreover, such as he had formerly known
him, so good, affectionate, and brotherly, overflowing with
charity for every affliction 1 The thought haunted him for a
moment, and fiUed him with painful regret for that brother-
liness now dead and gone. Then, with hardly a moment's
pause, his mind reverted to himself, and he realised that he
might stubbornly remain there for hours without regaining
faith. Nevertheless, he felt a sort of tremor pass through
him, a final hope, a feeling that if the Blessed Virgin shoidd
perform the great miracle of curing Marie, he would at last
believe. It was like a final delay which he allowed himself,
an appointment vrith faith for that very day, at four o'clock
in the afternoon, when according to what the girl had told
him the Blessed Sacrament would pass by. And at this
thought his anguish at once ceased, he remained kneeling,
worn out with fatigue and overcome by invincible drowsiness.
The hours passed by, the resplendent illumination of the
Grotto was still projected into the night, its reflection stretch-
ing to the neighbouring hill-sides and whitening the walls of
THE VIGIL in
the convents there. However, Pierre noticed it grow paler
and paler, which surprised him, and he roused himself, feeling
thoroughly chilled ; it was the day breaking, beneath a leaden
sky overcast with clouds. He perceived that one of those
storms, so sudden in mountainous regions, was rapidly rising
from the south. The thunder could abeady be heard
rumbling in the distance, whilst gusts of wind swept along
the roads. Perhaps he also had been sleeping, for he no
longer beheld Baron Suire, whose departure he did not remem-
ber having witnessed. There were scarcely ten persons left
before the Grotto, though among them he again recognised
Madame Maze with her face hidden in her hands. However,
when she noticed that it was daylight and that she could be
seen, she rose up, and vanished at a turn of the narrow path
leading to the convent of the Blue Sisters.
Feeling anxious, Pierre went up to Marie to tell her she
must not remain there any longer, unless she wished to get
wet through. ' I will take you back to the Hospital,' said he.
She refused and then entreated : ' No, no 1 I am waiting
for mass ; I promised to communicate here. Don't trouble
about me, return to the hotel at once and go to bed, I implore
you. You know very well that covered vehicles are sent here
for the sick whenever it rains.'
And she persisted in refusing to leave, whilst on his side
he kept on repeating that he did not wish to go to bed. A
mass, it should be mentioned, was said at the Grotto early
every morning, and it was a divine joy for the pilgrims to be
able to communicate, amidst the glory of the rising sun, after
a long night of ecstasy. And now, just as some large drops of
rain were beginning to fall, there came the priest, wearing a
chasuble and accompanied by two acolytes, one of whom,
in order to protect the chahce, held a large white silk umbrella,
embroidered with gold, over him.
Pierre, after pushing Marie's little conveyance close to
the railing, so that the girl might be sheltered by the over-
hanging rock, under which the few other worshippers had
also sought refuge, had just seen her receive the sacrament
with ardent fervour, when his attention was attracted by a
pitiful spectacle which quite wrung his heart.
Beneath a dense, heavy deluge of rain, he caught sight of
Madame Vincent, still with that precious, woeful burden, her
little Eose, whom with outstretched arms she was offering to
Jhe Blessed Virgin, Uiiabl9 to §tay any longer at the shelter-
874 LOURDES
house owing to the complaints caused by the child's constant
moaning, she had carried her off into the night, and during
two hours had roamed about in the darkness, lost, distracted,
bearing this poor flesh of her flesh, which she pressed to her
bosom, unable to give it any relief. She knew not what road
she had taken, beneath what trees she had strayed, so absorbed
had she been in her revolt against the unjust sufferings which
had so sorely stricken this poor Uttle being, so feeble and so
pure, and as yet quite incapable of sin. Was it not abominable
that the grip of disease should for weeks have been incessantly
torturing her child, whose cry she knew not how to quiet ?
She carried her about, rooking her in her arms as she went
wildly along the paths, obstinately hoping that she would
at last get her to sleep, and so hush that wail which was rend-
ing her heart. And, suddenly, utterly worn-out, sharing each
of her daughter's death-pangs, she found herself opposite the
Grotto, at the feet of the miracle-working Virgin, she who
iorgave and who healed.
' 0 Virgin, Mother most admirable, heal her 1 0 Virgin,
Mother of Divine Grace, heal her ! '
She had fallen on her knees, and with quivering, out-
stretched arms was stiU. offering her expiring daughter, -in a
paroxysm of hope and desire which seemed to raise her from
the ground. And the rain, which she never noticed, beat
down behind her with the fury of an escaped . torrent, whilst
violent claps of thunder shook the mountains. For one
moment she thought her prayer was granted, for Eose had
sUghtly quivered as though visited by the archangel, her face
becoming quite white, her eyes and mouth opening wide ; and
with one last Uttle gasp she ceased her cry.
' 0 Virgin, Mother of Our Eedeemer, heal her I 0 Virgin,
All-powerful Mother, heal her ! '
But the poor woman felt her child become even lighter in
her extended arms. And now she became afraid at no longer
hearing her moan, at seeing her so white, with staring eyes
and open mouth, without a ^ign of life. How was it that she
did not smUe if she were cured? Suddenly a loud heart-
rending cry rang out, the cry of the mother, surpassing even
the din of the thunder in the storm, whose violence was
increasing. Her child was dead. And she rose up erect,
turned her back on that deaf Virgin who let little children die,
and started off like a madwoman beneath the lashing down-
pour, going straight before her without knowing whither, and
THE ■VIGIL 27^
still and ever carrying and nursing that poor little body which
Bhe had held in her arms during so many days and nights.
A thunderboHj fell, shivering one of the neighbouring trees, as
though with the stroke of a giant axe, amidst a great crash
of twisted and broken branches.
Pierre had rushed after Madame Vincent, eager to guide
and help her. But he was unable to follow her, for he at
once lost sight of her^ behind the blurring curtain of rain.
When he returned, the mass was drawing to an end, and, as
soon as the rain fell less violently, the officiating .priest went
off under the white silk umbrella embroidered with gold.
Meantime a kind of omnibus awaited the few patients to take
them back to the Hospital.
Marie pressed Pierre's hands. ' Oh ! how happy I am ! '
she said. ' Do not come for me before three o'clock this after-
noon.'
On being left amidst the rain, which had now become
an obstinate fine drizzle, Pierre re-entered the Grotto and
seated himself on the bench near the spring. He would liot
go to bed, for in spite of his ■sfeariness he dreaded sleep in
the state of nervous excitement in which he had been plunged
ever since the day before. Little Eose's death had increased
his fever ; he could not banish from his mind the thoright of
that broken-hearted mother, wandering along the muddy
paths with the dead body of her chUd. What could be the
reasons which influenced the Virgin ? He was amazed that
she could make a choice. Divine Mother as she was, he
wondered how her heart could decide upon healing only ten
out of a hundred sufferers — that ten per cent, of miracles
■which Doctor Bonamy liad proved by statistics. He, Pierre,
had already asked himself the day before which ones he would
have chosen had he possessed the power of saving ten. A
terrible power in all truth, a formidable selection, which he
would never have had the courage to make. Why this one,
jand not that other ? Where was the justice, where the com-
passion ? To be all-powerful and heal every one of them; was
not that the desire which rose from each heart ? And the
Virgin seemed to him to be cruel, badly informed, as harsh
and indifferent as even impassible nature, distributing life and
death at random, or in accordance with laws which mankind
knew nothing of.
The rain was at last leaving off, and Pierre had been
there a couple of hours when he felt that his feet were damp.
T 2
176 LOURDES
He looked down, and was greatly surprised, for the spring was
overflowing through the gratings. The soil of the Grotto was
already covered ; whilst outside a sheet of water was flowing
under the benches, as far as the parapet against the Gave<
The late storms had swollen the waters in the neighbourhood,
Pierre thereupon reflected that this spring, in spite of its
miraculous origin, was subject to the laws that governed other
springs, for it certainly communicated with some natural
reservoirs, wherein the rain penetrated and accumulated.
And then, to keep his ankles diy, he left the place.
THE TWO VICTIMS
PiEEEE walked along thirsting for fresh air, his head so heavy
that he took off his hat to relieve his burning brow. Despite
all the fatigue of that terrible night of vigil, he did not think
of sleeping. He was kept erect by that rebellion of his whole
being which he could not quiet. Eight o'clock was striking,
and he walked at random under the glorious morning sun,
now shining forth in a spotless sky, which the storm seemed
to have cleansed of all the Sunday dust.
AU at once, however, he raised his head, anxious to know
where he was ; and he was quite astonished, for he found that
he had already covered a deal of ground, and was now below
the station, near the municipal hospital. He was hesitating
at a point where the road forked, not knowing which direction
to take, when a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder, and a
voice inquired: 'Where are you going at this early
hour?*
It was Doctor Chassaigne who addressed him, drawing up
his lofty figure, clad in black from head to foot. ' Have you
lost yourself ? ' he added ; ' do you want to know your way ? '
' No, thanks, no,' replied Pierre, somewhat disturbed. ' I
spent the night at the Grotto with that young patient to
whom I am so much attached, and my heart was so upset
that I have been walking about in the hope it would do me
good, before returning to the hotel to take a little sleep.'
The doctor continued looking at him, clearly detecting the
frightful struggle which was raging within iiim, the despair
which he felt at being unable to nink asleep in faith, the
THE TWO VICTIMS 277
suffering which the futility of all his efforts brought him.
' Ah, my poor child ! ' murmured M. Chassaigne ; and, in a
fatherly way, he added : ' Well, since you are walking, suppose
we take a walk together ? I was just going down yonder, to
the bank of the Gave. Come along, and on our way back you
will see what a lovely view we shall have.'
For his part, the doctor took a walk of a couple of hours'
duration each morning, ever alone, seeking, as it were, to tire
and exhaust his grief. First of all, as soon as he had risen, he
repaired to the cemetery, and knelt on the tomb of his wife
and daughter, which, at all seasons, he decked with flowers.
And afterwards he would roam along the roads, with tearful
eyes, never returning home until fatigue compelled him.
With a wave of the hand, Pierre accepted his proposal, and
in perfect silence they went, side by side, down the sloping
road. They remained for a long time without speaking ; the
doctor seemed more overcome than was his wont that morn-
ing ; it was as though his chat with his dear lost ones had
made his heart bleed yet more copiously. He walked along
with his head bowed ; his face, round which his white hair
streamed, was very pale, and tears still blurred his eyes.
And yet it was so pleasant, so warm in the sunlight on that
•lovely morning. The road now followed the Gave on its
right bank, on the other side of the new town ; and you could
see the gardens, the iuchned ways, and the Basilica. And, all
at once, the Grotto appeared, with the everlasting flare of its
tapers, now paling in the broad light.
Doctor Chassaigne, who bad turned his head, made the sign
of the cross, which Pierre did not at first understand. And
when, in his turn, he had perceived the Grotto, he glanced in
surprise at his old firiend, and once more relapsed into the
astonishment which had come over him a couple of days
previously on finding this man of science, this whilom atheist
and materialist, so overwhelmed by grief that he was now a
believer, longing for the one delight of meeting his dear ones
in another life. His heart had swept his reason away ; old and
lonely as he was, it was only the illusion that he would live once
more in paradise, where loving souls meet again, that prolonged
his life on earth. This thought increased the young priest's
discomfort. Must he also wait until he had grown old and
endured equal sufferings in order to find a refuge in faith ?
Still walking beside the Gave, leaving the town farther
and farther behind them, they were lulled as it were by the
278 GOURDES
noise of those clear waters rolling over the pebbles, between
banks shaded by trees. And they still remained silent^ walk-
ing on with an equal step, each, on his own side, absorbed in
bis sorrows.
' And Bernadette,' Pierre suddenly inquired ; ' did yon know
her?"
The doctor raised his head. 'Bernadette? Yes, yes,*
said he. ' I saw her onee — afterwards.' He relapsed into
silence for a mpment, and then began chatting : ' In 1858,
you know, at the time of the apparitions, I was thirty years
of age. I was in Paris, still young in my profession, and
opposed to all supernatural notions, so that I had no idea of
returning to my native mountains to see a girl suffering from
hallucinations. Five or six years later, however, some time
about 1864, I passed through Lourdes, and was inquisitive
enough to pay Bernadette a visit. She was then still at. the
asylum with the Sisters of Nevers.'
Pierre remembered that one of the reasons of his journey
had been his desire to complete his inquiry respecting Ber-
nadettej. And who could tell if grace might not come to him
from t^t humble, lovable girl, on the day when he should
be convinced that she had indeed fuMUed a mission of
divine love and forgiveness ? ' For this consummation to
ensue it would perhaps suffice that he should know her better
and.le^rn to feel that she was really the saint, the chosen one,
as others believed her to have been.
' Tell me about her, I pray you,' he said ; ' tell me all you
know of her.'
A faint smile curved the doctor's lips. He understood, and
would have greatly liked to calm and comfort the young priest
whose soul was so grievously tortured by doubt. ' Oh 1 will-
ingly, my poor child 1 ' he answered. ' I should be so happy
to help you on the path to light. You do well to love Berna-
dette—that may save you ; for since all those old-time things
I have deeply reflected on her case, and I declare to you that
I never met a more charming creature, or one vrith a better
heart.'
Then, to the slow rhythm of their footsteps along the
well-kept, sunlit road, in the delightful freshness of morning,
the doctor began to relate his visit to Bernadette in 1864.
She had then just attained her twentieth birthday, the appari-
tions had taken place six years previously, and she had asto-
nished him by her candid and sensible air, her perfect modesty.
THE TWO VICTIMS 279
The Sisters of Nevers, who had taught her to read, kept
her ■with them at the asylum in order to shield her from
public inquisitiveness. She found an occupation there, helping
them in sundry petty duties ; but she was very often taken ill,
ind would spend weeks at a time in her bed. The doctor
had been particularly struck by her beautiful eyes, pure, can-
did, and frank like those of a child. The rest of her face, said
he, had become somewhat spoilt ; her complexion was losing
its clearness, her features had grown less delicate, and her
general appearance was that of an ordinary servant-girl,
short, puny and unobtrusive. Her piety was still keen, but
she had not seemed to him to be the ecstatical, excitable
creature that many might have supposed; indeed, she
appeared to have a rather positive mind which did not indulge
in flights of fancy ; and she invariably had some httle piece
of needlework, some knitting, some embroidery in her hand.
In a word, she appeared to have entered the common path,
and in nowise resembled the intensely passionate female
worshippers of the Christr She had no further visions, and
never of her own accord spoke of the eighteen apparitions
which had decided her Ufe. To learn anything it was neces-
sary to interrogate her, to address precise questions to her.
These she would briefly answer, and then seek to change the
conversation, as though she did not like to talk of such mys-
terious things. If, wishing to probe the matter further, you
asked her the nature of the three secrets which the Virgin had
confided to her, she would remain silent, simply averting her
eyes. And it was impossible to make her contradict herself ;
the particulars she gave invariably agreed with her original
narrative, and, indeed, she always seemed to repeat the same
words, with the same inflections of the voice.
' I had her in hand during the whole of one afternoon,'
continued Doctor Chassaigne, ' and there was not the variation
of a syllable in her story. It was disconcerting. Still, I am
prepared to swear that she was not lying, that she never lied,
that, she was altogether incapable of falsehood.'
Pierre boldly ventured to discuss this point. ' But won't
you admit, doctor, the possibihty of some disorder of the wiU ? '
he asked. ' Has it not been proved, is it not admitted nowa-
days, that when certain degenerate creatures with childish
minds fall into an hallucination, a fancy of some kind or other,
they are often unable to free themselves from it, especially
when they remain ia the same environment in which the
280 LOURDES
phenomenon occurred ? Cloistered, living alone with her fixecl
idea, Bemadette, naturally enough, obstinately clung to it.'
The doctor's faint smile returned to his lips, and vaguely
waving his arm, he replied : ' Ah ! my child, you ask me too
much ! You know very well that I am now only a poor old
man, who prides himself but Uttle on his science, and no longer
claims to be able to explain anything. However, I do of
course know of that famous medical-school example of the
young girl who allowed herself to waste away with hunger at
home, because she imagined that she was suffering from a
serious complaint of the digestive organs, but who nevertheless
began to eat when she was taken elsewhere^ However,
that is but one circimistance, and there are so many contra-
dictory cases.'
For a moment they became silent, and only the rhythmical
sound of their steps was heard along the road. Then the
doctor resumed : ' Moreover, it is quite true that Bemadette
shunned the world, and was only happy in her soUtary corner.
She was never known to have a single intimate female Mend,
any particular human love for anybody. She was kind and
gentle towards all, but it wa'i only for children that she
showed any lively affection. And as, after all, the medical
man is not quite dead within me, I will confess to you that
I have sometimes wondered if she remained as pure in mind,
as, most undoubtedly, she did remain in body. However, I
think it quite possible, given her sluggish, poor-blooded tempera-
ment, not to speak of the innocent sphere in which she grew
up, first BartrSs, and then the convent. StUI, a doubt came to
me when I heard of the tender interest which she took in the
orphan asylum built by the Sisters of Nevers, farther along
this very road. Poor little girls are received into it, and
shielded from the perils of the highways. And if Bemadette
wished it to be extremely large, so as to lodge all the Uttle lambs
in danger, was it not because she herself remembered having
roamed the roads with bare feet, and still trembled at the
idea of what might have become of her but for the help of the
Blessed Virgin ? '
Then, resuming his narrative, he went on telling Pierre of
the crowds thatflocked to see Bemadette and pay her reverence
in her asylum at Lourdes. This had proved a source of con-
siderable fatigue to her. Not a day went by vrithout a stream
of visitors appearing before her. They came from all parta
of France, some even from abroad ; and it soon becamo
THE TWO VICTIMS 28t
neeessafy to refuse the applications of those who were actuated
by mere inqnisitiveness, and to grant admittance only to the'
genuine believers, the members of the clergy, and the people
of mark on whom the doors could not well have been shut. .
A Sister was always present to protect her against the excessive
indiscretion of some of her visitors, for questions literally
rained upon her, and she often grew faint through having to
repeat her story so many times. Ladies of high position fell
on their knees, kissed her gown, and would have hked to carry
a piece of it away as a relic. She also had to defend her
chaplet, which ia their excitement they aU. begged her to sell
to them for a fabulous amount. One day a certain marchioness
endeavoured to secure it by giving her another one which she
had brought, with her — a chaplet with a golden cross and
beads of real pearls. ' Many hoped that she would consent to
work a miracle in their presence ; children were brought to
her ia order that she might lay her hands upon them ; she
was also consulted ia oases of illness, and attempts were made
to purchase her influence with the Virgia, Large sums were
offered to her. At the slightest sign, the slightest expression
of a desire to be a queen, deckedwithjewels and crowned with
gold, she would have been overwhelmed with regal presents.
And while the humble remained on their knees on her threshold,
the great ones of the earth pressed round her, and would have
counted it a glory to act as her escort. It was even related
that one amongthem, the handsomestand wealthiest of princes,
came one clear sunny April day to ask her hand ia marriage !
' But what always struck and displeased me,' said Pierre,
* was her departure from Lourdes when she was two-and- twenty,
her sudden disappearance and sequestration ia the convent of
Saint Gildard at Nevers, whence she never emerged. Didn't
that give a semblance of truth to those spurious rumours of
insanity which were circulated? Didn't it help people to
suppose that she was being shut up, whisked away foj fear of
some indiscretion on her part, some naive remark or other
which might have revealed the secret of a prolonged fraud ?
Indeed, to speak plainly, I will confess to you that for my
own part I still believe that she was spirited away.'
Doctor Chassaigne gently shook his head. ' No, no,' said
he, ' there was no story prepared in advance in this affair, no
big melodrama secretly staged and afterwards performed by
more or less miconscious actors. The developments came of
themselves, by the sole force of circumstances ; and they
28» LOURDES
were always very intricate, very difficult to analyse. Moreover,
it is certain that it was Bemadette herself who wished to
leave Lonrdes. Those iacessant visits wearied her, she felt
ill at ease amidst all that noisy worship^ All that &h& desired
was a dim nook where she might live in peace, and, so fierce
was she at times in her disinterestedness, that when money
was handed to her, even with the pious intent of having a mass
said or a taper burnt, she would fling it upon the floor. She
never accepted anything for herself or for her family, which
remained in poverty. And with such pride as she possessed,
such natural simplicity, such a desire to remain in the back-
ground, one can very weU understand that she should have
wished to disappear and cloister herself in some lonely spot
so as to prepare herself to make, a good death. Her work
was accomplished; she had initiated this great movement
scarcely knowing how or why; and she could really be of no
farther utility. Others were about to conduct matters to an
issue and insure the triumph of the Grotto.'
' Let us admit, then, that she went off of her own. accord,'
said Pierre ; ' still, what a relief it must have been for the
people you speak of, who thenceforth became the real masters,
whilst millions of money were raining down on Lourdes from
the whole world.'
' Oh 1 certainly ; I don't pretend that any attempt was
made to .detain her here ! ' exclaimed the doctor. ^Frankly, I
even believe that she was in some degree urged into the
course she took. She ended by becoming somewhat of an
incumbrance. It was not that any annoying revelSitrons
were feared from her ; but remember that with, her extreme
timidity and frequent illnesses she was scarcely ornamental.
Besides, however small the room which she took up at Lourdies,
however obedient she showed herself, she was none the less a
power, and attracted the multitude, which made her, so to.8ay,
a competitor of the Grotto. For the Grotto to remain alone,
resplendent in its glory, it was advisable that Bemadette
should withdraw into the background, become as it were a
simple legend. Such, indeed, must have been the reasons
which induced Monseigneur Laurence, the Bishop oi'Tarbes,
to hasten her departure. The only mistake that was made was
in saying that it was a question of screening her from the
raiterprises of the world, as though it were feared that she
might fall into the sin of pride, by growing vainr of the saintly
tame with which the whole of Christendom re-echoed. And
THE TWO VICTIMS 283
this was doing her a grave injury, for she was as incapable pt
pride as she was of falsehood. Never, indeed, was there a;
more candid or more modest child.'
The doctor was growing impassioned, excited. But all
at once he became calm again, and a pale smile returned to.
his lips. ' 'Tis true,' said he, 'I love her; the more I have
thought of her, the more have I learned to love her. But you
must not think, Pierre, that I am completely brutified by
belief. If I nowadays acknowledge the existence of an unseen
power^ if I feel a need of believing in another, better, and
more just life, I nevertheless know right well that there are
men remaining, in this world of ours; and at times, even when
they wear the cowl or the cassock, the work they do is vile.'
There came another interval of silence. Each was con-
tinuing his dream apart from the other. Then the doctor,
resumed : ' I will teU you of a fancy which has often haunted
me. Suppose we admit that Bernadette was not the shy,
simple child we knew her to be ; let us endow her with a
spirit of intrigue and domination, transform her into a con-
queress, a leader of nations, and try to picture what, in that
case, would have happened. It is evident that the Grotto
would be hers, the Basilica also. We should see her lording
it at all the ceremonies, under a dais, with a gold mitre on
her head. She would distribute the miracles ; with a sovereign
gesture her little hand would lead the multitudes to heaven.
All the lustre and glory would come from her, she being the
saint, the chosen one, the only one that had been privileged
to see the Divinity face to face. And, indeed, nothmg would
seem more just, for she would triumph after toiling, enjoy
the fruit of her labour in all glory. But you see, as it happens,
she is defrauded, robbed. The marvellous harvests sown by
her are reaped by others. During the twelve years which she
lived at Saint Gildard, kneeling in the gloom, Lourdes was
full of victors, priests in golden vestments chanting thanks-
givings, and blessing churches and monuments erected at a cost
of millions. She alone did not behold the triumph of the new
faith, whose author she had been. Yon say that she dreamt
it all. WeU, at all events, what a beautiful dream it was, a
dream which has stirred the whole world, and from which
she, dear, girl, never awakened ! '
They halted and sat down for a moment on a rock beside
the road, before returning to the town. In front of them the
6ave, deep at this point of its course, was rolling blue waters
. 284 LOVRDES
tinged wit^h dark moire-like reflections, whilst, farther on,
rushing hurriedly over a bed of large stones, the stream
became so much foam, a white froth, light like snow. Amidst
the gold raining from the sim, a &esh breeze came down from
the mountains.
Whilst listening to that story of how Bernadette had been
exploited and suppressed, Pierre had simply found in it all a
fresh motive for revolt; and, with his eyes fixed on the
ground, he began to think of the injustice of nature, of. that
law which wills that the strong should devour the weak.
Then, all at once raising his head, he inquired : ' And did you
also know Abb6 Peyramale ? '
The doctor's eyes brightened once more and he eagerly
replied : ' Certainly I did ! He was an upright, energetic man,
a saint, an apostle. He and Bernadette were the great
makers of Our Lady of Lourdes. Like her, he endured
frightful sufferings, and, like her, he died from them. Those
who do not know his story can know nothing, understand
nothing, of the drama enacted here.'
Thereupon he related that story at length. Abbd Pey-
ramale was the parish priest of Lourdes at the time of the
apparitions. A native of the region, tall, broad-shouldered,
with a powerful leonine head, he was extremely intelligent,
very honest and good-hearted, though at times violent and
domineering. He seemed built for combat. An enemy of all
pious exaggerations, discharging the duties of his ministry in
a, broad, liberal spirit, he regarded the apparitions with dis-
trust, when he first heard of them, refused to beheve in
Bernadette's stories, questioned her, and demanded proofs. It
was only at a later stage, when the blast of faith became
irresistible, upsetting the most rebeUious minds and master-
ing the multitude, that he ended, in his turn, by bowing his
head ; and when he was^naUy conquered, it was more parti-
cularly by his love for the humble and the oppressed, which he
could not restrain when he beheld Bernadette threatened with
imprisonment. The civil authorities were persecuting one of
his fiock ; at this his shepherd's heart awoke, and, in her
defence, he gave full rein to his ardent passion for justice.
Moreover, the charm which the child diffused had worked
upon him ; he felt her to be so candid, so truthful, that he
began to place a blind faith in her and love her even as
everybody else loved her. Moreover, why should he have curtly
dismissed all question of miracles, when miracles abound in
THE TWO VICTIMS 285
the pages of Holy Writ? It was not for a minister of
religion, whatever his prudence, to set himself up as a sceptic
when entire populations were falling on their knees and the,
Church seemed to be on the eve of another great triumph.
Then, too, he had the nature of one who leads men, who stirs
up crowds, who builds, and in this affair he had really found
his vocation, the vast field in which he might exercise his
energy, the great cause to which he might wholly devote
himself with all his passionate ardour and determination to
succeed.
From that moment, then, Abb6 Peyramale had but one
thought, to execute the orders which the Virgin had com-
missioned Bemadette to transmit to him. He caused im-
provements to be carried out at the Grotto. A railing was
placed in firont of it ; pipes were laid for the conveyance of the
water from the source, and a variety of work was accomplished
in order to clear the approaches. However, the Virgin had
particularly requested that a chapel might be built ; and he
wished to have a church, quite a triumphal basilica. He
pictured everything on a grand scale, and, full of confidence
in the enthusiastic help of Christendom, he worried the
architects, requiring them to design real palaces worthy of
the Queen pf Heaven. As a matter of fact, offerings already
abounded, gold poured from the most distant dioceses, a rain
of gold destined to increase and never end. Then came his
happy years : he was to be met among the workmen at all
hours, instilling activity into them like the jovial, good-natured
feUow he was, constantly on the point of taking a pick or
trowel in hand himself, such was his eagerness to behold the
realisation of his dream. But days of trial were in store for
him : he fell iU, and lay in danger of death on the fourth of
April, 1864, when the first procession started from his parish
church to the Grotto, a procession of sixty thousand pilgrims,
which wound along the streets amidst an immense concourse
of spectators.
On the day when Abbd Peyramale rose from his bed,
saved, a fiirst time, from death, he found himself despoiled.
To second him in his heavy task Monseigneur Laurence, the
Bishop, had already given him as assistant a former episcopal
secretary. Father Sempe, whom he had appointed warden of
the Missionaries of Garaison, a community founded by himself.
Father Sempd was a sly, spare little man, to all appearance
most disinterested and humble, but in reality consumed by all
286 LOURDES .^
the thirst of ambition. At the outset he kept in his place,
serving the priest of Lourdes like a faithful subordinate, attends
ing to matters of all kinds in order to lighten the other's work,
and acquiring information on every possible subject in his
desire to render himself indispensable. He must soon have
realised what a rich farm the Grotto was destined to become,
and what a colossal revenue might be derived from it, if only
a little skill were exercised. And thenceforth he no longer
stirred_ from the episcopal residence, but ended by acquiring
great influence over the calm, practical Bishop, who was in
great need of money for the charities of his diocese. And
thus it was that during Abb6 Peyramale's illness Father
Semp4 succeeded in effecting a separation between the parish
of Lourdes and the domain of the Grotto, which last he was
commissioned to manage at the head of a few Fathers of
the Immaculate Conception, over whom the Bishop placed him
as Father Superior.
The struggle soon began, one of those covert, desperate,
mortal struggles which are waged under the cloak of eccle-
siastical discipline. There was a pretext for rupture all ready,
a field of battle on which the longer puise would necessarily
end by conquering. It was proposed to build a new parish
church, larger and more worthy of Lourdes than the old one
already in existence, which was admitted to have become too
small since the faithful had been flocking into the town in
larger and larger numbers. Moreover, it was an old idea of
Abb6 Peyramale, who desired to carry out the Virgin's orders
with all possible precision. Speaking of the Grotto, she had
said that people would go ' thither in procession ' ; and the
Abbe had always seen the pilgrims staxt in procession from
the town, whither they were expected to return in the same
fashion, as indeed had been the practice on the first occasions
after the apparitions. A central point, a rallying spot, was
therefore required, and the Abb6's dream was to erect a
magnificent church, a cathedral of gigantic proportions, which
would accommodate a vast multitude. Builder as he was by
temperament, impassioned artisan working for the glory of
Heaven, he already pictured this cathedral springing fiom the
soil, and rearing its clanging beKry in the sunlight. And it
was also his own house that he wished to build,-the edifice
which would be his act of faith and adoration, the temple
where he would be the pontiff, and triumph in company vrith
the sweet memory of Bernadette, in full view of the spot of
THE TWO VICTIMS 287
which both] he ai>d she had been so ciaelly dispossessed.
Naturally enough, bitterly as he felt that act of spoliation,
the building of this new parish church was in some degree hia
revenge, his share of all the glory, besides being a task which
would enable him to utihse both his militant activity and the
fever that had been consuming him ever since he had ceased
going to the Grotto, by reason of his soreness of heart.
At the outset of the new enterprise there was again a flash
of enthus|.asm. At the prospect of seeing all the'life and all
the money flow into the new city which was springing from
the ground around the Basilica, the old town, which felt itself
thrust upon one side, espoused the cause of its priest. The
municipal council voted a sum of one hundred thousand francs,
which, unfortunately, was not to be paid until the new church
should be roofed in. Abb6 Peyramale had already accepted
the plaps of his architect — ^plans which, he had insisted, should
be on ^ grand scale — and had also treated with a contractor of
Char^^es, who engaged to complete the church in three or four
years if the promised supplies of funds should be regularly
forthcoming. The Abbd believed that offerings would assuredly
continue raining down from aU parts, and so he launched into
this big enterprise without any anxiety, overflowing with- a
careless bravery, and f uUy expecting that Heaven would no|
abandon him on the road. He even fancied that he could rely
upon the support of Monseigneur Jourda,n, who had now
succeeded Monseigneur Laurence as Bishop of Tarbes, for
this prelate, after blessing the foundation stone of the new
chni:ch, had delivered an address in which he admitted that the
enterprise was necessary and meritorious. And it seemed, too,
as though Father Semp^, with his customary humility, Jia4
bowed to the inevitable and accepted this vexatious cornpetitioh,'
which would compel him to relinquish a share of the plunder ;
for he now pretended to devote himself entirely to the manage-
ment of the Grotto, and even allowed a collection-box for
contributions to the building of the new parish church to be
placed inside the Basihca.
Then, however, the secret, rageful struggle began afresh.
Abb6 Peyramale, who was a wretched manager, exulted on
seeing his new church so rapidly take shape. The work was
being carried on at a fast pace, and he troubled about nothing
else, being stiU under the delusion that the Blessed Virgin
would find whatever money might be needed. Thus he was
quite stupefied when he at last perceived that the offerings
288 LOURDES
were falling off, that the money of the faithful no longer
reached him, as though, indeed, someone had secretly diverted
its flow. And eventually the day came when he was vmable
to make the stipulated payments. In all this there bad
been so much skilfully combined strangulation, of which he
only became aware later on. Father Semp^, however, had
once more prevailed on the Bishop to grant his favour
exclusively to the Grotto. There was even a talk of some
confidential circulars distributed through the various dioceses,
so that the many sums of money offered by the faithful should
no longer be sent to the parish. The voracious, insatiable
Grotto was bent upon securing everything, and to such a point
were things carried that five hundred franc notes slipped into
the collection-box at the Basilica were kept back ; the box was
rifled and the parish robbed. Abbd Feyramale, however, in
his passion for the rising church, his child, continued fighting
most desperately, ready if need were to give his blood. He
had at first treated with the contractor in the name of the
vestry ; then, when he was at a loss how to pay, he treated in
his own name. His life was bound up in the enterprise, he
wore himself out in the heroic efforts which he made. Of the
four hundred thousand francs that he had promised, he had
only been able to pay two hundred thousand; and the
municipal council still obstinately refused to hand over the
hundred thousand francs which it had voted, until the new
church should be covered in. This was acting against the
town's real interests. However, it was said that Father Semp6
was trying to bring influence to bear on the contractor. And,
all at once, the work was stopped.
From that moment the death agony began. Wounded in the
heart, the Abbe Peyramale, the broad-shouldered mountaineer
with the leonine face, staggered and fell like an oak struck
down by a thunderbolt. He took to his bed, and never left it
alive. Strange stories circulated: it was said that Father
Semp6 had sought to secure admission to the parsonage under
some pious pretext, but in reality to see it his much-dreaded
adversary were really mortally stricken; and it was added,
that it had been necessary to drive him from the sick-room,
where his presence was an outrageous scandal. Then, when
the unhappy priest, vanquished and steeped in bitterness, was
dead, Father Semp6 was seen triumphing at the funeral, from
which the others had not dared to keep him away. It was
affirmed that he openly displayed his abominable delight, tha^
THE TWO VICTIMS 289
his face was radiant that day ■vyitli the joy of victory. He was
at last rid of the only man 'VFho had been an obstacle to his
designs, whose legitimate authority he had feared. He would
no longer be forced to share anything with anybody now that
both the founders of Our Ladyof Lourdes had been suppressed—
Bernadette placed in a convent, and Abb6 Peyramale lowered
into the ground. The Grotto was now his own property, the
alms would come to him alone, and he could do what he
pleased with the 800,000 francs or so (82,000Z.) which were at his
disposal every year. He would complete the gigantic works
destined to make the Basilica a self-supporting centre, and assist
in embellishing the new town in order to increase the isolation
of the old one and seclude it behind its rock, like an insignifi-
cant parish submerged beneath the splendour of its all-power-
ful neighbour. All the money, all the sovereignty, would be
his ; he henceforth would reign.
However, although the works had been stopped, and the
new parish church was slumbering inside its wooden fence, it
was none the less more than half built. The vaulted aisles
were already erected. And the imperfect pile remained there
like a threat, for the town might some day attempt to finish
it. Like Abbe Peyramale, therefore, it must be killed for
good, turned into an irreparable ruin. The secret labour
therefore continued, a work of refined cruelty and slow de-
struction. To begin with, the. new parish priest, a simple-
miuded creature, was cowed to such a point that he no longer
opened the envelopes containing remittances for the parish ;
all the registered letters were at once taken to the Fathers.
Then the site selected for the new parish church was criti-
cised, and the diocesan architect was induced to draw up a
report stating that the old church was still in good condition
and of ample size for the requirements of the community.
Moreover, influence was brought to bear on the Bishop, and
representations were made to him respecting the annoying
features of the pecuniary difficulties which had arisen with
the contractor. With a little imagination poor Peyramale was
transformed into a violent, obstinate madman, through whose
midisciplined zeal the Church had almost been compromised.
And, at last, the Bishop, forgetting that he himself had
blessed the foundation-stone, issued a pastoral letter laying
the unfinished church under interdict, and prohibiting all
religious services in it. This was the supreme blow. Endless
lawsuits liad already begun ; tlie contractor, who had only
290 LOURDES
received two hundred thousand francs for the five hundred
thousand francs' worth of work which had been executed, had
taken proceedings against Abb6 Peyramale's heir-at-law, the
vestry, and the town, for the latter still refused to pay over the
amount which it had voted. At first the Prefect's Council
declared itself incompetent to deal with the case, and when
it was sent back to it by the Council of State, it rendered a
judgment by which the town was condemned to pay the
hiididred thousand francs arid the heir-at-law to finish the
church. At the same time the vestry was put out of court.
However, there was a fresh appeal to the Council of State,
which quashed this judgment, and condemned the vestry, and,-
in default, the heir-at-law, to pay the contractor. Neither
party being solvent, matters remained in this position. The
lawsuits had lasted fifteen years. The town had now resig-
nedly paid over the hundred thousand francs, and only two
hundred thousand remained owing to the contractor. How-
ever, the costs and the accumulated interest had so increased
the amount of indebtedness that it had risen to six hundred
thousand francs ; and as, on the other hand, it was estimated
that four hundred thousand francs would be required to finish
the church, a miUion was needed to save this young ruin from
certain destruction. The Fathers of the Grotto were thence-
forth able to sleep in peace ; they had assassinated the poor
church ; it was as dead as AbbS Feyramale himself.
The bells of the Basilica rang out triumphantly, and Father
Sempd reigned as a victor at the conclusion of that great
struggle, thaij dagger warfare in which not only a man but
stones also, had been done to death in the shrouding gloom of
intriguing sacristies. And old Lourdes, obstinate and unin-
telligent, paid a hard penalty for its mistake in not giving
more support to its minister, who had died struggling, killed
by his love for his parish, for now the new town did not cease
to grow and prosper at the expense of the old one. All
the wealth flowed to the former : the Fathers of the Grotto
coined money, financed hotels and candle shops, and sold the
water of the som'ce, although a clause of their agreement with
the munioipahty expressly prohibited them from carrying on
any commercial pursuits.
The whole region began to rot and fester ; the triumph of
the Grotto had brought about such a passion for lucre, such a
burning, fevwish desire to possess ajid enjoy, that extra-
ordinary perversion set in, growing worse and worse each day,
THE TWO VICTIMS agr
and changing Bernadette's peaceful Bethlehem into a perfect
Sodom or Gomorrah. Father Semp^ had ensured the triumph
of his Divinity by spreading human abominations all around
and wrecking thousands of souls. Gigantic buildings rose
from the ground, five or six millions of francs had already
been expended, everything being sacrificed to the stern deter-
mination to leave the poor parish out in the cold and keep the
entire plunder for self and friends. Those costly, colossal
gradient ways had only been erected in order to avoid compli-
ance with the Virgin's express desire that the faithful should
come to the Grotto in procession. For to go down from the
Basilica by the incline on the left, and climb up to it agaiii by
the inchne on the right, could certainly not be called going to
the Grotto in procession : it was simply so much revolving
in a circle. However, the Fathers cared little about that ;
they had succeeded in compelling people to start from their
premises and return to them, in order that they might be the
sole proprietors of the affair, the opulent farmers who gar-
nered the whole harvest. Abb6 Peyramale lay buried in the
crypt of his unfinished, ruined church, and Bernadette, who
had long since dragged out her life of suffering in the depths
of a convent far away, was now likewise sleeping the eternal
sleep under a flagstone in a chapel.
Deep sUence fell when Doctor Chassaigne had finished
this long narrative. Then, with a painful effort, he rose to
his feet again : ' It will soon be ten o'clock, my dear child,'
said he, 'and I want you to take a little rest. Let us go
back.'
Pierre followed him without speaking ; and they retraced
their steps towards the town at a more rapid pace.
' Ah ! yes,' resumed the doctor, ' there were great iniquities
and great sufferings in it all. But what else could you
expect ? Man spoils and corrupts the most beautiful things.
And you cannot yet understand aU the woeful sadness of the
things of which I have been talking to you. You must see
them, lay your hand on them. Would you like me to show
you Bernadette's room and Abb6 Peyramale's unfinished
church this evening ? '
' Yes, I should indeed ! ' replied Pierre.
' Well, I win meet you in front of the Basilica after the
four o'clock procession, and you can come with me.'
Then they spoke no further, each becoming absorbed in
bis reverie once more.
292 LOURDES
The Gave, now upon their right hand, was flowing through
a deep gorge, a kind of cleft into which it plunged, vanishing
from sight among the bushes. But at intervals a clear stretch
of it, looking Uke unbumished silver, would appear to view ;
and, farther on, after a sudden turn in the road, they found
it flowing in increased volume across a plain, where it spread
at times into glassy sheets which must often have changed
their beds, for the gravelly soil was ravined on all sides* The
sun was now becoming very hot, and was already high in the
heavens, whose hmpid azure assumed a deeper tinge above
the vast circle of mountains.
And it was at this turn of the road that Lourdes, still
some distance away, reappeared to the eyes of Pierre and
Doctor Chassaigne. In the splendid morning atmosphere,
amid a flying dust of gold and purple rays, the town showed
whitely on the horizon, its houses and monuments becoming
more and more distinct at each step which brought them
nearer. And the doctor, still silent, at last waved his arm
vrith a broad, mournful gesture in order to call his com-
panion's attention to this growing town, as though to a proof
of all that he had been telling him. There, indeed, rising up
in the dazzling daylight, was the evidence which confirmed
his words. , .
The flare of the Grotto, fainter now that the sun was
shining, could already be espied amidst the greenery. And
soon afterwards the gigantic monumental works spread out :
the quay with its freestone parapet skirting the Gave, whose
course had been diverted ; the new bridge connecting the new
gardens with the recently opened boulevard; the colossal
gradient ways, the massive church of the Eosary, and, finally,
the shm, tapering Basilica rising above all else with graceful
pride. Of the new town spread all around the monuments,
the wealthy city which had sprung as though by enchant-
ment from the ancient impoverished soU, the great convents
and the great hotels, you could, at this distance, merely dis-
tinguish a swarming of white facades and a scintillation of
new slates ; whilst, in confusion, far away, beyond the rocky
mass, on which the crumbling castle walls were profiled
against the sky, appeared the humble roofs of the old town, a
jumble of little time-worn roofs, pressing timorously against
one another. And as a background to this vision of the life
of yesterday and to-day, the Httle and the big Gers rose up
beneath the splendour of the everlasting sun, and barred the
THE TWO VICTIMS 293
horizon \rith their bare slopes, which the oblique rays were
tinging with streaks of pink and yellow.
Doctor Chassaigne insisted on accompanying Pierre to the
Hotel of the Apparitions, and only parted from him at its door,
after reminding him of their appointment for the afternoon.
It was not yet eleven o'clock. Pierre, whom fatigue had
suddenly mastered, forced himself to eat before going to bed,
for he reaUsed that want of food was one of the chief causes
of the weakness which had come over him. He fortunately
found a vacant seat at the table d'hdte, and made some kind
of a dejeuner, half asleep all the time, and scarcely knowing
what was served to him. Then he went upstairs and flung
himself on his bed, after taking care to tell the servant to
awake him at three o'clock.
However, on lying down, the fever that consumed him at
first prevented him from closing his eyes. A pair of gloves,
forgotten in the next room, had reminded him of M. de Guer-
saint, who had left for Gavarnie before daybreak, and would
only return in the evening. What a delightful gift was
thoughtlessness, thought Pierre. For his own part, with his
limbs worn out by weariness and his mind distracted, he was
sad unto death. Everything seemed to conspire against his
willing desire to regain the faith of his childhood. The tale
of Abb6 Peyramale's tragic adventures had simply aggravated
the feeling of revolt which the story of Bernadette, chosen
and martyred, had implanted in his breast. And thus he
asked himself whether Ms search after the truth, instead of
restoring his faith, ■should not rather lead him to yet greater
hatred of ignorance and credulity, and to the bitter conviction
that man is indeed all alone La the world, with naught to
guide him save his reason.
At last he feU asleep, but visions contiaued hovering
around him in his painful slumber. He beheld Lourdes, con-
taminated by Mammon, turned into a spot of abomination and
perdition, transformed into a huge bazaar, where everything
was sold, masses and souls alike 1 He beheld also Abbi
Peyramale, dead and slumbering under the ruins of his church,
among the nettles which ingratitude had sown there. And he
only grew calm again, only tasted the delights of forgetfulness
when a last pale, woeful vision had faded from his gaze — a
vision of Bernadette upon her knees in a gloomy comer at
Nevers, dreaming of her far-away work, which she was never,
never to behold.
«94 LOURDES
TEE FOUBTH DAY
THE BITTEENESS OP DEATH
At the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, that morning, Maria
remained seated on her bed, propped up by pillows. Having
spent the whole night at the Grotto, she had refused to let
them take her back there. And, as Madame de JonquiSre
approached her, to raise one of the piUows which was shpping
feom its place, she asked : ' What day is it, madame ? '
'Monday, my dear child."
' Ah ! true. One so soon loses count of the time. And,
besides, I am so happy 1 It is to-day that the Blessed Virgin
will cure me 1 '
She smiled divinely, with the air of a day dreamer, her
eyes gazing into vacancy, her thoughts so far away, so ab-
sorbed in her one fixed idea, that she beheld nothing save the
certainty of her hope. Bound about her, the Sainte-Honorine
Ward was now quite deserted, all the patients, excepting
Madame Y^tu, who lay at the last extremity in the next bed,
having already started for the Grotto. But Marie did not
even notice her neighbour ; she was delighted with the sudden
stillness which had fallen. One of the windows overlooking
the courtyard had been opened, and the glorious morning sun-
shine entered in one broad beam, whose golden dust was
dancing over her bed and streaming upon her pale hands. It
was indeed pleasant to find this room, so dismal at night-time
with its many beds of sickness, its unhealthy atmosphere
and its nightmare groans, thus suddenly filled with sunlight,
purified by the morning an-, and wrapped in such delicious
silence !
' Why don't you try to sleep a little? ' maternally inquired
Madame de Jonquike. ' You must be quite worn out by your
vigil.'
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 295
Marie, who felt so light and cheerful that she no longer
experienced any pain, seemed surprised.
' But I am not at all tired, and I don't feel a bit sleepy.
Go to sleep ? Oh ! no, that would be too sad. I should no
longer know that I was going to be cured 1 '
At this the superintendent laughed. ' Then why didn't
you let them take you to the Grotto ? ' she asked. ' You won't
know what to do with yourself all alone here.'
' I am not alone, madame, I am with her,' replied Marie ;
and thereupon, her -vision returning to her, she clasped her
hands in ecstasy. ~ ' Last night, you know, I saw her bend
her head towards me and smile. I quite imderstood her, I
could hear her voice, although she never opened her lips.
When the Blessed Sacrament passes at four o'clock I shall be
cured.'
Madame de Jonqui^re tried to calm her, feeling rather
anxious at the species of somnambuUsm in which she beheld
her. However, the sick girl went on : ' No, no, I am no worse,
I am waiting. Only, you must surely see, madame, that
there is no need for me to go to the Grotto this morning, since
the appointment which she gave me is for four o'clock.' And
then the girl added in a lower tone : ' Pierre will come for me
at half-past three. At four o'clock I shall be cured.'
The sunbeam slowly made its way up her bare arms, whicb
were now almost transparent, so wasted had they become
through illness ; whilst her glorious fair hair, which had fallen
over her shoulders, seemed like the very effulgence of the great
luminary enveloping her. The trill of a bird came in from
the courtyard, and quite enlivened the tremulous silence of the
ward. Some child who could not be seen must also have been
playing close by, for now and again a soft laugh could be
heard ascending in the warm air which was so delightfully
calm.
' Well,' said Madame de Jonquiere by way of conclusion,
' don't sleep then, as you don't wish to. But keep quite quiet,
and it will rest you all the same.'
Meantime Madame VStu was expiring in the adjoining
bed. They had not dared to take her to the Grotto, for ffear
lest they should see her die on the way. For some little time
- she had Iain there with her eyes closed, and Sister Hyaeinthe,
who was watching, had beckoned to Madame D^sagneaux in
order to acquaint her with the bad opinion she had formed of
the case. Both of them were now leaning over the dying
296 LOVRDES
woman, observing her with increasing anxiety. The mask
upon her face had turned more yellow than ever; and now
looked like mud ; her eyes had become more sunken, her lips
seemed to have grown thinner, and the death rattle had begun,
a slow, pestilential wheezing, polluted by the cancer which was
finishing its destructive work. All at once she raised her
eyelids, and was seized with fear on beholding those two faces
bent over her own. Could her death be near, that they should
thus be gazing at her ? Immense sadness showed itself iii her
eyes, a despairing regret of life. It was not a vehement
revolt, for she no longer had the strength to struggle ; but
what a frightful fate it was to have left her shop, her sur-
roundings, and her husband, merely to come and die so far
away ; to have braved the abominable torture of such a
journey, to have prayed both day and night, and then, instead
of having her prayer granted, to die when others recovered !
However, she could do no more than murmur : ' Oh ! how
I suffer, oh ! how I suffer. Do something, anything, to relieve
this pain, I beseech you.'
Little Madame Desagneaux, with her pretty milk-white
face half-hidden by a mass of fair, frizzy hair, was quite up-
set. She was not used to death-bed scenes, she would have
given half her heart, as she expressed it, to see that poor
woman recover. And she rose up and began to question
Sister Hyaeinthe, who was also in tears but already resigned,
knowing as she did that salvation was assured when one died
well. Could nothing really be done, however ? Could not
something be tried to ease the dying woman ? Abb6 Judaine
had come and administered the last sacrament to her a couple
of hours earlier that very morning. She now only had Heaven
to look to ; it was her only hope, for she had long since given
up expecting aid from the skill of man.
' No, no I we must do something,' exclaimed Madame
Desagneaux. And thereupon she went and fetched Madame
de Jonqui^re from beside Marie's bed. ' Look how this poor
creature is suffering, madame,' she exclaimed. ' Sister Hya-
einthe says that she can only last a few hours longer. But
we cannot leave her moaning like this. There are things
which give relief. Why not call that young doctor who is
here ? '
' Of course we will,' replied the superintendent. ' We vrill
send for him at once.'
They seldom thought of the doctor in the wards. It only
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 297
occurred to the ladies to send for him when a case was at its
very worst, when one of their patients was howhng with pain.
Sister Hyacinthe, who herself felt surprised at not having
thought of Ferrand, whom shebeheved to be in an adjoining
room, inquired if she should fetch him.
' Certainly,' was the reply. ' Bring him as quickly as
possible.'
When the Sister had gone, Madame de Jonqui^re made
Madame D6sagneaux help her in slightly raising the dying
woman's head, thinking that this might relieve her. The two
ladies happened to be alone there that morning, all the other
lady-hospitaUers having gone to their devotions or their
private affairs. However, from the end of the large deserted
ward, where, amidst the warm quiver of the sunlight such
sweet tranquillity prevailed, there still came at intervals the
light laughter of the unseen child.
' Can it be Sophie who is making such a noise ? ' suddenly
asked the lady superintendent, whose nerves were slightly
upset by all the worry of the death which she foresaw. Then
quickly walking to the end of the ward, she found that it
was indeed Sophie Couteau — the young girl so miraculously
healed the previous year — who, seated on the floor behind a
bed, had been amusing herself, despite her fourteen years, in
making a doU out of a few rags. She was now talking to it,
so happy, so absorbed in her play, that she laughed quite
heartily. ' Hold yourself up, mademoiselle,' said she. ' Dance
the polka, that I may see how you can do it 1 One ! two I
dance, turn, kiss the one you like best ! '
Madame de Jonqui^re, however, was now coming up,
' Little girl,' she said, ' we have one of our patients here in
great pain, and not expected to recover. You must not
laugh so loud.'
' Ah ! madame, I didn't know,' replied Sophie, rising up,
and becoming quite serious, although stUl holding the doU. ia
her hand. ' Is she going to die, madame ? '
' I fear so, my poor child.'
Thereupon Sophie became quite silent. She followed the
superintendent, and seated herself on an adjoining bed ;
whence, without the slightest sign of fear, but with her large
eyes burning with curiosity, she began to watch Madame
VStu's death agony. In her nervous state, Madame D^sag-
neaux was growing impatient at the delay in the doctor's
arrival ; whilst Marie, stiU enraptured, and resplendent in the
298 LOURDES
Bunlight, seemed unconscious of what was taking place about
her, wrapt as she was in delightful expectancy of the
miracle.
Not having found Ferrand in the small apartment near
the linen-room which he usually occupied, Sister Hyacinthe
was now searching for him all over the bmlding. During the
past two days the young doctor had become more bewildered
than ever in that extraordinary hospital, where his assistance
was only sought for the rehef of death pangs. The small
medicine-chest which he had brought with him proved quite
useless ; for there could be no thought of trying any course of
treatment, as the sick were not there to be doctored, but simply
to be cured by the Hghtning stroke of a miracle. And so he
mainly confined himself to administering a few opium pills, in
order to deaden the severer sufferings. He had been fairly
amazed when accompanying Doctor Bonamy on a round
through the wards. It had resolved itself into a mere stroll,
the doctor, who had only come out of curiosity, taking no
interest in the patients, whom he neither questioned nor
examined. He solely concerned himself with the pretended
cases of cure, stopping opposite those women whom he recog-
nised from having seen them at his ofiSce where the miracles
were verified. One of them had suffered from three com-
plaints, only one of which the Blessed Virgin had so far
deigned to cure ; but great hopes were entertained respecting
the other two. Sometimes, when a wretched woman, who
the day before had claimed to be cured, was questioned with
reference to her health, she would reply that her pains had
returned to her. However, this never disturbed the doctor's
serenity; ever conciliatory, the good man declared that
Heaven would surely complete what Heaven had begun.
Whenever there was an improvement in health, he would ask
if it were not something to be thankful for ? And, indeed,
his constant saying was : ' There's an improvement already ;
be patient 1 ' What he most dreaded were the importunities
of the lady-superintendents, who all wished to detain him to
show him sundry extraordinary cases. Each prided herself
on having the most serious illnesses, the most frightful, excep-
tional cases in her ward ; so that she was eager to have them
medically authenticated, in order that she might share in the
triumph should cure supervene. One caught the doctor by
the arm and assured him that she felt confident she had a
leper in her charge ; another entreated him to come and look
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 299
at a young girl whose back, she said, was covered with fish's
scales ; whUst a third, whispering in his ear, gave him some
terrible details about a married lady of the best society. He
hastened away, however, refusing to see even one of them, or
else simply promising to come back later on when he was not
so busy. As he himself said, if he Ustened to aU those ladies,
the day would pass in useless consultations. However, he at
last suddenly stopped opposite one of the miraculously cured
inmates, and, beckoning Ferrand to his side, exclaimed : ' Ah !
now here is an interesting cure ! ' and Ferrand, utterly bewil-
dered, had to listen to him whilst he described all the features
of the illness, which had totally disappeared at the first im-
mersion in the piscina.
At last Sister Hyaeinthe, stiU wandering about, encountered
Abbs Judaiae, who informed her that the young doctor had
just been summoned to the Family Ward. It was the fourth
time he had gone down there to attend to Brother Isidore,
whose sufferings were as acute as ever, and whom he could
only stuff with opium. In his agony, the Brother himself
merely asked to be ' soothed a little, in order that he might
gather sufficient strength to return to the Grotto during the
afternoon, as he had not been able to do so ia the morning.
However, his pains increased, and at last he swooned away.
When the Sister entered the ward she found the doctor
seated at the missionary's bedside. ' Monsieur Ferrand,' she
said, ' come upstairs with me to the Sainte-Honorine Ward at
once. We have a patient there at the point of death.'
He smiled at her ; indeed, he never beheld her without
feehng brighter and comforted. ' I wiU come with you, Sister,'
he replied. ' But you'll wait a minute, won't you ? I must
try to restore this poor man.'
She waited patiently and made herself useful. The Family
Ward, situated on the ground-floor, was also full of sunshine
and fresh air, which entered through three large windows
opening on to a narrow strip of garden. In addition to
Brother Isidore, only Monsieur Sabathier had remained in
bed that morning, in view of obtaining a little rest ; whilst
Madame Sabathier, taking advantage of the opportunity, had
gone to purchase a few medals and pictures, which she intended
for presents. Comfortably seated on his bed, his back sup-
ported by some pillows, the ex-professor was rolling the beada
of a chaplet between his fingers. He was no longer praying,
however, but merely continuing the occupation in a mechani-
300 LOURDES
cal manner, his eyes, meantime, fixed upon his neighbour,
whose attack he was following with painful interest.
' Ah I Sister,' said he to Sister Hyacinthe, who had drawn
near, ' that poor Brother fills me with admiration. Yesterday
I doubted the Blessed Virgin for a moment, seeing that she
still did not deign to hear me, though I have been . coming
here for seven years ; but the example set me by that poor
martyr, so resigned amidst his torments, has quite shamed
me for my want of faith. You can have no idea how grievously
he Buffers, and you should see him at the Grotto, with his
eyes glowing with divine hope ! It is reaUy subUme ! I only
know of one picture at the Louvre — a picture by some unknown
ItaUan master — in which there is the head of a monk beatified
by a similar faith.'
The man of intellect, the ex-university professor, reared
on hterature and art, was reappearing in this poor old fellow,
whose life had been blasted, and who had desired to become n
free patient, one of the poor of the earth, in order to move tho
pity of Heaven. He again began thinjnng of Ms own case,
and with tenacious hopefulness, which the futility of seven
journeys to Lourdes had failed to destroy, he added : ' Well, I
still have this afternoon, since we sha'n't leave tUl to-morrow.
The water is certainly very cold, but I shall let them dip me
a last time ; and all the morning I have been praying and
asking pardon for my revolt of yesterday. When the Blessed
Virgin chooses to cure one of her children it only takes her a
second to do so ; is that not so. Sister ? May her wiU be done,
and blessed be her name ! '
Passing the beads of the chaplet more slowly between his
fingers, he again began saying his ' Aves ' and ' Paters,' whilst
his eyehds drooped in his flabby face, to which a cmldish ex-
pression had been returning during the many years that he
had been virtually cut off from the world.
Meantime Ferrand had signalled to Brother Isidore's
sister, Marthe, to come to him. She had been standing at
the foot of the bed with her arms hanging down beside her,
showing the tearless resignation of a poor, narrow-minded
girl whilst she watched that dying man whom she worshipped.
She was no more than a faithful dog ; she had accompanied
her brother and spent her scanty savings, without being of
any use save to watch him suffer. Accordingly, when the
doctor told her to take the invalid in her arms and raise him
up a little, she felt quite happy at being of some service at
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 301
last. Her heavy, freckled, mournful ■ face actually grew
bright.
' Hold him,' said the doctor, ' whilst I try to give him
this.'
When she had raised him, Ferrand, with the aid of a small
spoon, succeeded in introducing a few drops of Uquid between
his-set teeth. Almost immediately the sick man opened his
eyes and heaved a deep sigh. He was calmer already ; the
opium was taking effect and dulling the pain which he felt
burning his right side, as though a red-hot iron were being
applied to it. However, he remained so weak that, when he
wished to speak, it became necessary to place one's ear close
to his mouth in order to catch what he said. With a slight
sign he had begged Ferrand to bend over him. ' You are the
doctor, monsieur, are you not ? ' he faltered. ' Give me suf-
ficient strength that I may go once more to the Grotto, this
afternoon. I am certain that, if I am able to go, the Blessed
Virgin wiU cure me.'
' Why, of course you shall go,' repHed the young man.
' Don't you feel ever so much better ? '
' Oh ! ever so much better — no ! I know very well what
my condition is, because I saw many of our Brothers die, out
there in Senegal. When the liver is attacked and the abscess
has worked its way outside, it means the end. Sweating,
fever, and delirium follow. But the Blessed Virgin will touch
the sore with her little finger and it will be healed. Oh 1 I
implore you all, take me to the Grotto, even if I should be
unconscious ! '
Sister Hyacinthe had also approached, and leant over him.
'Be easy, dear Brother,' said she. 'You shall go to the
Grotto after dijevmer, and we will aU pray for you,'
At length, in despair at these delays and extremely
anxious about Madame Vetu, she was able to get Ferrand
away. Still, the Brother's state filled her with pity ; and, as
they ascended the stairs, she questioned the doctor, asking him
if there were really no more hope. The other made a ges-
ture expressive of absolute hopelessness. It was madness to
come to Lourdes when in such a condition. However, he
hastened to add, with a smUe : ' I beg your pardon, Sister.
You know that I am unfortunate enough not to be a believer.'
But she smiled in her turn, like an indulgent friend who
tolerates the shortcomings of those she loves. ' Oh 1 that
doesn't matter,' she replied, 'I know you; you're all the
302 LOURDES
same a good fellow. Besides, we see so many people, we go
amongst such pagans that it would be difficult to shock us.'
Up above, in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, they found Ma-
dame VStu still moaning, a prey to most intolerable suffering.
Madame de JonquiSre and Madame D^sagneaux had remained
beside the bed, their faces turning pale, their hearts distracted
by that death-cry, which never ceased. And when they consulted
Ferrand in a whisper, he merely replied, with a slight shrug
of the shoulders, that she was a lost woman, that it was only
a question of hours, perhaps merely of minutes. All he could
do was to stupefy her also, in order to ease the atrocious death
agony which he foresaw. She was watching him, still con-
scious, and also very obedient, never refusing the medicine
offered her. Like the others, she now had but one ardent
desire — ^tb go back to the Grotto — and she gave expression to
it in the stammering accents of a chUd who fears that its
prayer may not be granted : ' To the Grotto — will yon ? To
the Grotto r
' You shall be taken there by-and-by, I promise you,' said
Bister Hyacinthe. ' But you must be good. Try to sleep a
little, to gain some' strength."
The sick woman appeared to sink into a doze, and Madame
de JonquiSre then thought that she might take Madame
D^sagneaux with her to the other end of the ward to count
the linen, a troublesome business, in which they became quite
bewildered, as some of the articles were missing. Meantime
Sophie, seated on the bed opposite Madame Vetu, had not
stirred. She had laid her doll on her lap, and was waiting
for the lady's death, since they had told her that she was
about to die. Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had remained
beside the dying woman, and, unwiUing to waste her time,
had taken a needle and cotton to mend some patient's bodice
which had a hole in the sleeve.
' You'll stay a little while with us, won't you ? ' she asked
Ferrand.
The latter, who was still watching Madame V^tu, replied :
' Yes, yes. She may go off at any moment. I fear hsemor-
rhage.' Then, catching sight of Marie on the neighbouring
bed, he added in a lower voice ; ' How is she ? Has she ex-
perienced any relief ? '
' No, not yet. Ah, dear child ! we all pray for her very
sincerely. She is so young, so sweet, and so sorely afflicted.
Just look at her now ! Isn't she pretty ? One might think
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 303
her a saint amid all this sunshine, with her large, ecstatic
eyes, and her golden hair shining hke an aureola ! '
Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest. Her
absent air, her indifference to all about her, the ardent faith,
the internal joy which so completely absorbed her, surprised
him. ' She will recover,' he murmured, as though giving
utterance to a prognostic. ' She will recover.'
Then he rejoined Sister Hyacinthe, who had seated herself
in the embrasure of the lofty window, which stood wide open,
admitting the warm air of the courtyard. The sun was now
creeping round, and only a narrow golden ray fell upon her
white coif and wimple. Ferrand stood opposite to her,
leaning against the window bar and watching her while she
sewed. 'Do you know, Sister,' said he, 'this journey to
Lourdes, which I undertook to oblige a friend, wUl be one of
the few delights of my life.'
She did not understand him, but innocently asked : ' Why
BO?'
' Because I have found you again, because I am here with
you, assisting you in your admirable work. And if you only
knew how grateful I am to you, what sincere affection and
reverence I feel for you ! '
She raised her head to look him straight in the face, and
began jesting without the least constraint. She was really
delicious, with her pure lily-white complexion, her small laugh-
ing mouth, and adorable blue eyes which ever smiled. And
you could realise that she had grown up in all innocence and
devotion, slender and supple, with all the appearance of a girl
hardly in her teens.
'What! You are so fond of me as all that ! ' she ex-
claimed. ' Why ? '
' Why I'm fond of you ? Because you are the best, the
most consoling, the most sisterly of beings. You are the
sweetest memory in my Ufe, the memory I evoke whenever I
need to be encouraged and sustained. Do you no longer
remember the month we spent together, in my poor room,
when I was so ill and you so affectionately nursed me ? '
' Of course, of course I remember it ! Why, I never had
so good a patient as you. You took all I offered you ; and
when I tucked you in, after changing your linen, you remained
as still as a little child.'
So speaking, she continued looking at him, smiling ingenu-
ously the whUe. He was very handsome and robust, in the
304 LOURDES
very prime of youth, with a rather pronounced nose, superb
eyes, and red lips showing under his black moustache. But
she seemed to be simply pleased at seeing him there before
her moved almost to tears.
' Ah 1 Sister, I should have died if it hadn't been for you,'
he said. ' It was through having you that I was cured.'
Then, as they gazed at one another, with tender gaiety of
heart, the memory of that adorable month recurred to them.
They no longer heard Madame Vetu's death moans, nor beheld
the ward littered with beds, and, with all its disorder, resem-
bling some ambulance improvised after a public catastrophe.
They once more found themselves in a small attic at the top
of a dingy house in old Paris, where air and hght only reached
them through a tiny window opening on to a sea of roofs.
And how charming it was to be alone there together — ^he who
had been prostrated by fever, she who had appeared there like
a good angel, who had quietly come from her convent like a
comrade who fears nothing ! It was thus that she nursed
women, children, and men, as chance ordained, feeling per-
fectly happy so long as she had something to do, some sufferer
to reUeve. She never displayed any consciousness of her sex ;
and he, on his side, never seemed to have suspected that she
might be a woman, except it were for the extreme softness of
her hands, the caressing accents of her voice, the beneficent
gentleness of her manner ; and yet all the tender love of a
mother, aU the affection of a sister, radiated from her person.
During three weeks, as she had said, she had nursed him like
a child, helping him in and out of bed, and rendering him
every necessary attention, without the slightest embarrassment
or repugnance, the holy purity bom of suffering and charity
shielding them both the while. They were indeed far
removed from the frailties of life. And when he became
convalescent, what a happy existence began, how joyously
they laughed, like two old friends ! She still watched over
him, scolding him and gently slapping his arms when he
persisted in keeping them uncovered. He would watch her
standing at the basin, washing him a shirt in order to save
him the trifling expense of employing a laundress. No one
ever came up there ; they were quite alone, thousands of
miles away from the world, delighted with this solitude, in
which their youth displayed such fraternal gaiety.
' Do you remember. Sister, the morning when I was first
able to walk about ? ' asked Ferrand. ' You helped me to get
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 305
up, and supported me whilst I awkwardly stumbled about, no
longer knowing how to use my legs. We did laugh so.'
' Yes, yes, you were saved, and I was very pleased.'
' And the day when you brought me some cherries — I can
see it all again ; myself reclining on my pillows, and you seated
at the edge of the bed, with the cherries lying between us in
a large piece of white paper. I refused to touch them unless
you ate some with me. And then we took them in turn, one
at a time, until the paper was emptied ; and they were very
nice.'
' Yes, yes, very nice. It v/as the same with the currant
syrup : you would only drink it when I took some also.'
Thereupon they laughed yet louder; these recollections
quite delighted them. But a painful sigh from Madame Vetu
brought them back to the present. Perrand leant over and
cast a glance at the sick woman, who had not stirred. The
ward was still full of a quivering peacefulness, which was only
broken by the clear voice of Madame D^sagneaux counting
the linen. Stifling with emotion, the young man resumed in
a lower tone : ' Ah ! Sister, were I to live a hundred years, to
know every joy, every pleasure, I should never love another
woman as I love you ! '
Then Sister Hyacinthe, without, however, showing any
confusion, bowed her head and resumed her sewing. An
almost imperceptible blush tinged her lily-white skin with
pink.
' I also love you well, Monsieur Ferrand,' she said, ' but
you must not make me vain. I only did for you what I do
for so many others. It is my business, you see. And there
was reaUy only one pleasant thing about it all, that the
Almighty cured you.'
They were now again interrupted. La Grivotte and Elise
Bouquet had returned from the Grotto before the others. La
Grivotte at once squatted down on her mattress on the floor,
at the foot of Madame Vetu's bed, and, taking a piece of bread
from her pocket, proceeded to devour it. Ferrand, since the
day before, had felt some interest in this consumptive patient,
who was traversing such a curious phase of agitation, a prey
to an inordinate appetite and a feverish need of motion.
For the moment, however, EHse Bouquet's case interested
him stiU more ; for it had now become evident that the
lupuSj the sore which was eating away her face, was showing
signs of cure. She had continued bathing her face at the
3o6 LOURDES
miraculous fountain, and had just come from the Verification
Office, where Doctor Bonamy had triumphed. Ferrand, quite
surprised, went and examined the sore, which, although still
far from healed, was already paler in colour and slightly
desiccated, displaying all the symptoms of gradual cure.
And the case seemed to him so curious, that he resolved to
make some notes upon it for one of his old masters at the
medical college, who was studying the nervous origin of
certain skin diseases due to faulty nutrition.
' Have you felt any pricking sensation ? ' he asked.
' Not at aU, monsieur,' she replied. ' I bathe my face and
tell my beads with my whole soul, and that is all.'
La Grivotte, who was vain and jealous, and ever since the
day before had been going in triumph among the crowds,
thereupon called to the doctor. ' I say, monsieur, I am cured,
cured, cured completely ! '
He waved his hand to her in a friendly way, but refused
to examine her. ' I know, my girl. There is nothing more
the matter with you-*
Just then Sister Hyaciathe called to him. She had put
her sewing down on seeing Madame Vetu raise herself in a
frightful fit of nausea. In spite of her haste, however, she
was too late with the basin ; the sick woman had brought up
another discharge of black matter, similar to soot ; but; this
time, some blood was mixed with it, httle specks of violet-
coloured blood. It was the hasmorrhage coming, the near end
which Ferrand had been dreading.
' Send for the superintendent,' he said in a low voice,
seating himself at the bedside.
Sister Hyacinthe ran for Madame de Jonquiere. The
linen having been counted, she found her deep in conver-
sation with her daughter Eaymonde, at some distance from
Madame D^sagneaux, who was washing her hands.
Eaymonde had just escaped for a few minutes from the
refectory, where she was on duty. This was the roughest of
her labours. The long narrow room, with its double row of
greasy tables, its sickening smell of food and misery, quite
disgusted her. And taking advantage of the half-hour still
remaining before the retm-n of the patients, she had hurried
upstairs, where, out of breath, with a rosy face and shining
eyes, she had thrown her arms round her mother's neck.
' Ah ! mamma,' she cried, ' what happiness ! it's settled ! *
Amazed, her head buzzing, busy with the superintendence
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 307
of her ward, Madame de JonquiJre did not understand.
' "What's settled, my child ? ' she asked.
Then Raymonde lowered her voice, and, with a faint blush,
replied : ' My marriage ! '
It was now the mother's turn to rejoice. Lively satis-
faction appeared upon her face, the fat face of a ripe, hand-
some, and still agreeable woman. She at once beheld in her
mind's eye their little lodging in the Eue Vaneau, where,
since her husband's death, she had reared her daughter
with great difficulty upon the few thousand francs he had left
her. This marriage, however, meant a return to life, to
society, the good old times come back once more.
' Ah 1 my child, how happy you make me ! ' she exclaimed.
But a feeling of uneasiness suddenly restrained her. God
was her witness that for three years past she had been coming
to Lourdes through pure motives of charity, for the one great
joy of nursing His beloved invalids. Perhaps, had she closely
examined her conscience, she might, behind her devotion, have
found some trace of her fondness for authority, which ren-
dered her present managerial duties extremely pleasant to her.
However, the hope of findiog a husband for her daughter
among the suitable young men who swarmed at the Grotto
was certainly her last thought. It was a thought which
came to her, of course, but merely as somethmg that was pos-
sible, though she never mentioned it. However, her happiness
wrung an avowal from her :
' Ah ! my child, your success doesn't surprise me. I prayed
to the Blessed Virgin for it this morning.'
Then she wished to be quite sure, and asked for further
information. Eaymonde had not yet told her of her long walk
leaning on Gerard's arm the day before, for she did not wish to
speak of such things until she was triumphant, certain of
having at last secured a husband. And now it was indeed
settled, as she had exclaimed so gaily : that very morning she
had again seen the young man at the Grotto, and he had
-formally become engaged to her. M. Berthaud would un-
doubtedly ask for her hand on his cousin's behalf before thoy
took their departure from Lourdes.
' Well,' declared Madame de Jonquiere, who was now con-
vinced, smiling, and delighted at heart, ' I hope you will be
happy, since you are so sensible, and do not need my aid to
bring your affairs to a successful issue. Kiss me.'
It was at this moment that Sister Hyacinths arrived to
x2
3o8 LOURDES
anionnce Madame YStu's imminent death. Bajmonde at
once ran off. And Madame Desagneaux, who was wiping her
hands, began to complain of the lady-assistants, who had all
disappeared precisely on the morning when they were most
wanted. ' For instance,' said she, ' there's Madame Volmar.
I should like to know where she can have got to. ' She has
not been seen, even for an hour, ever since our arrival.'
' Pray leave Madame Volmar alone ! ' replied Madame de
Jonqui^re with some asperity. ' I have abeady told you that
she is ill.'
They both hastened to Madame VStu. Ferrand stood
there waiting ; and Sister Hyacinthe having asked him if there
were indeed nothing to be done, he shook his head. The
dying woman, reheved by her first emesis, now lay inert, with
closed eyes. But, a second time, the frightful nausea returned
to her, and she brought up another discharge of black matter
mingled with violet-coloured blood. Then she had another
short interval of calm, during which she noticed La Grivotte,
who was greedily devouring her hunk of bread on the mattress
on the floor.
' She's cured, isn't she ? ' the poor woman asked, feeling
that she herself was dying.
La Grivotte heard her, and exclaimed triumphantly : ' Oh,
yes, madame, cured, cured, cured completely ! '
For a moment Madame Vetu seemed overcome by a
miserable feeling of grief, the revolt of one who will not
succumb while others continue to hve. But almost imme-
diately she became resigned, and they heard her add very
faintly, ' It is the young ones who ought to remain.'
Then her eyes, which remained wide open, looked round, as
though bidding farewell to all those persons, whom she seemed
surprised to see about her. She attempted to smile as she
encountered the eager gaze of curiosity which little Sophie
Couteau still fixed upon her : this charming child had come
to kiss her that very morning, in her bed. EUse Bouquet,
who troubled herself about nobody, was meantime holding her
hand-glass, absorbed in the contemplation of her face, which
seemed to her to be growing beautiful, now that the sore was
healing. But what especially charmed the dying woman was
the sight of Marie, so lovely in her ecstasy. She watched
her for a long time, constantly attracted towards her, as
towards a vision of light and joy. Perhaps she fancied that
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 309
she already beKeld one of the saints of Paradise amid the glory
of the sun.
Suddenly, however, the fits of vomiting returned, and now
she solely brought up blood, vitiated blood, the colour of claret.
The rush was so great that it bespattered the sheet, and ran
aU over the bed. In vain did Madame de JonquiSre and
Madame D^sagneaux bring cloths ; they were both very pale
and scarcely able to remain standing. Ferrand, knowing how
powerless he was, had withdrawn to the window, to the very
spot where he had so lately experienced such delicious emotion ;
and with an instinctive movement, of which she was surely
unconscious, , Sister Hyaointhe had likewise returned to that
happy window, as thpugh to be near him.
' Eeally, can you do nothing ? ' she inquired.
' No, nothing I She will go off like that, in the same way
as a lamp that has burnt out.'
Madame V^tu, who was now utterly exhausted, with a thin
red stream still flowing from her mouth, looked fixedly at
Madame -de Jonqui^re whilst faintly moving her lips. The
lady-superintendent thereupon bent over her and heard these
slowly uttered words : -
' About my husband, madame — the shop is in the Eue
Mouffetard^oh ! it's quite a tiny one, not fai? from the Gobelins
— He's a clockmaker, he is; he couldn't /come with me, of
course, having to attend to the business ; and he will be very
much put out when he finds I don't come back — Yes, I cleaned
the jewellery and did the errands ' Then her voice grew
fainter, her words disjointed by the death-rattle, which began.
' Therefore, madame, I beg you will write to him, because I
haven't done so, and now here's the end — Tell him my body
had better remain at Lourdes, on account of the expense — And
he must marry again; it's necessary for one in trade — His
cousin — tell him his cousin '
The rest became a confused murmur. Her weakness was
too great, her breath was halting. Yet her eyes continued
open and full of life, amid her pale, yellow, waxy mask. And
those eyes seemed to fix themselves despairingly on the past,
on all that which soon would be no more : the little clock-
maker's shop hidden away in a populous neighbourhood ; the
gentle humdrum existence, with a toiling husband who was
ever bending over his watches; and the great pleasures of
Sunday, such as patching children fly their kitgs upoq
310 LOURDES
the fortifications. And at last those staring eyes gazed vainly
into the frightful night which -was gathering.
A last time did Madame de Jonqniere lean over her, seeing
that her lips were again moving. There came but a faint
breath, a voice from far away, which distantly murmured in
an accent of intense grief: ' She did not cure me.'
And then Madame Vetu expired, very gently.
As though this were all that she had been waiting for^-^
little Sophie Couteau jumped from the bed quite satisfied, and
went ofl: to play with her doll again at the far end of the
ward. Neither La Grivotte, who was finishing her bread, nor
Elise Bouquet, busy with her mirror, noticed the catastrophe.
However, amidst the cold breath which seemingly swept by,
while Madame de Jonqui^re and Madame Ddsagneaux — the
latter of whom was unaccustomed to the sight of death —
were whispering together in agitation, Marie emerged from
the expectant rapture in which the continuous, unspoken
prayer of her whole being had plunged her so long. And
when she understood what had happened, a feeling of sisterly
compassion — the compassion of a suffering companion, on her
side certain of cure — brought tears to her eyes.
' Ah ! the poor woman,' she murmured ; ' to think that she
has died so far from home, in such loneliness, at the hour
when others are being bom anew ! '
Ferrand, who, in spite of professional indifference, had
also been stirred by the scene, stepped forward to verify the
death ; and it was on a sign from liim that Sister Hyaeinthe
turned up the sheet, and threw it over the dead woman's face,
for there could be no question of removing the corpse at that
moment. The patients were now returning from the Grotto
in bands, and the ward, hitherto so calm, so full of sunshine,
was again filling with the tumult of wretchedness and pain —
deep coughing and feeble shuffling, mingled with a noisome
smell — a pitiful display, in fact, of well-nigh every human
infirmity.
II
THE SEBVICB AT THE GEOTTO
On that day, Monday, the crowd at the Grotto was
enormous. It was the last day that the national pilgrimage
would spend at Lourdes, and Father Fourcade, in his mom-
THE SERVICE AT THE GROTTO 31I
ing address, had said that it -would bo necessary to make a
supreme effort of fervour and faith to obtain from Heaven all
that it might be •wilhng to grant in the way of grace and
prodigious cure. So, from two o'clock in the afternoon,
twenty thousand pilgrims were assembled there, feverish, and
agitated by the most ardent hopes. From minute to minute
the crowd continued increasing, to such a point, indeed, that
Baron Suire became alarmed, and came out of the Grotto to
say to Berthaud : ' My friend, we shall be overwhelmed, that's
certain. Double your squads, bring your men closer to-
gether,'
The Hospitality of our Lady of Salvation was alone en-
trusted with the task of keeping order, for there were neither
guardians nor policemen of any sort present ; and it was for
this reason that the President of the Association was so
alarmed. However, Berthaud, under grave circumstances,
was a leader whose words commanded attention, and who
was endowed with energy that could be relied on. ' Be easy,'
said he ; ' I will be answerable for everything. I shall not
move from here until the four o'clock procession has passed
by.' .
Nevertheless, he signalled to Gerard to approach, ' Give
your men the strictest instructions,' he said to him, 'Only
those persons who have cards should be allowed to pass.
And place your men nearer each other ; tell them to hold the
cord tight.'
Yonder, beneath the ivy which draped the rock, the
Grotto opened, with the eternal flaring of its candles. Prom
a distance it looked rather squat and misshapen, a very narrow
and modest aperture for the breath of the Infinite which
issued from it, turning all faces pale and bowing every head.
The statue of the Virgin had become a mere white spot,
which seemed to move in the quiver of the atmosphere, heated
by the small yellow flames. To see anything it was necessary
to raise oneself; for the silver altar, the harmonium-organ
divested of its housing, the heap of bouquets thrown there, the
votive offerings streaking the smoky walls, were scarcely dis-
tinguishable foom behind the railing. And the day was lovely ;
never yet had a purer sky expanded above the immense
crowd ; the softness of the breeze in particular seemed delicious
after the storm o 
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